


Folded Pages and Pressed Flowers

by Not_Your_Average_Authoress



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookstores, Creepy Petyr Baelish, F/M, Falling In Love, Flowers, Lost Love, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Past Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Protective Sandor Clegane, Slow Burn, Stark Family Reunion(s) (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2019-11-15 12:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18073046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_Your_Average_Authoress/pseuds/Not_Your_Average_Authoress
Summary: Sandor Clegane has been the owner of Stranger Books for the past few years, living in a relative peace after giving up his post as personal security for the Lannisters. His days are easy and predictable, just the way he likes it, until a flower shop opens up across the street. The girl who works in the shop, who waltzes into his store and introduces herself as Alayne Stone, looks like a ghost from his past, the one person he regrets leaving behind. Of course, Alayne can’t be his Little Bird- Sansa Stark disappeared two years ago. But as hard as he tries, the similarities between Alayne and Sansa slowly draw him in, and he realizes that Alayne has more secrets than he can count.





	1. Ghost

Stranger Books was quiet that afternoon, a peace only broken by the flipping of pages by the owner, Sandor Clegane, currently absorbed in the most recent book that his friend/ ex girlfriend, Brienne Tarth, had written. The two had dated for a couple of months, before the tall blonde had become unintentionally infatuated with the golden haired Lannister. They had parted on good terms, and damn could the girl write. He didn’t begrudge her the read, and always put her books on the display closest to the door when a new one came out. 

The shop was a cozy one, which was not a word usually associated with Sandor. He was a hulking man, well over six feet tall, with the muscle and build to go along with his impressive height. His stature combined with the twisted gnarl of scars on the right side of his face made for both an imposing and often frightening figure, one who garnered sideways glances and outright stares from strangers. Lucky for him, he had found a solace in his shop. He always gave good recommendations, and his take-no-shit attitude and well stocked shelves had endeared him to his customers. 

He was as close to happy as he had ever been. Little did he know, his comfortable routine was about to change with the jingle of the store’s bell. 

He looked up from his chapter, carefully dog-earing the page he was on and setting it on the counter. 

He saw a head of dark hair, then the girl turned to him, and her blue eyes nearly knocked him off his feet. He knew that face. He would never forget that face as long as he lived. The fair skin, the angled cheekbones, the slightly pointed nose- and the eyes. The eyes which seemed to hold absolutely no recognition of himself. 

“Hello, sorry, are you open?” she said, and her light voice made him feel as though he had been punched in the stomach.

He nodded slowly. The ability to form words hadn’t come back just yet, and the woman in front of him seemed to be increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Well, hi, I’m Alayne Stone. I’m opening a shop up across the street in about a week, I thought I’d pop into the other shops in the area and let people know about the opening.” She gave a smile and held out a flier. 

Feeling as though he was moving in slow motion, he took it. It was bright and colorful, proclaiming Eyrie Flowers in a cursive script along the top. You’ve got to be fucking joking, he thought. Alayne Stone. 

“Thanks.” He said gruffly, looking back up at her. She was staring around his shop with a sort of analytical interest that made him uncharacteristically nervous. She looked back at him and smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. They were guarded and closed. 

“This is a nice shop. I’ve already heard good things about it from the other places I’ve stopped. Bronn, over at the mechanic, he said your name was Sandor?” 

“Yeah, uh, Sandor Clegane.” 

“It’s very good to meet you, Sandor. I’d better be off, I’ve a couple more places to stop by, but I’m sure I’ll be in and out of here. I love to read, but I don’t have as much time for it as I’d like,” she said with a sigh. 

“I’ll, er, see you next time then.” He said. Alayne smiled again, this one less plastered on, and swept out of the shop, leaving Sandor still standing behind the counter, frozen, grasping the flier so hard his knuckles were turning white. 

Alayne Stone? 

His mind couldn’t wrap around it. She looked so much like his- like Sansa. Unless the Stark girl had a twin she just never mentioned, he didn’t see how it was possible. Of course, there were some differences. The faces were bloody identical, but where Sansa had been all light, warmth, and openness, even in the Lannister’s clutches, Alayne was ice and walls and calculating looks. 

Snap out of it, Clegane. He thought to himself. Sansa Stark is gone. She’s been gone for two years- two years almost to the day, not that he was keeping track. She had vanished two years ago, leaving no trace. The police couldn’t find anything, and supposedly neither could the private investigators Cersei and Tywin Lannister had hired to find their precious son’s fiance. There was no way she would show up in his shop. 

And if it was Sansa, he would hope she remembered him. 

***

Four years ago, Kings Landing. 

She had been crying again. Her tears were a familiar sight to him now, so much so that he could tell even from the back. Her posture would change, her back become stiff and straight as a rail, refusing to show a sign of weakness after letting out her emotions. Her flaming hair trailed down her back, fluttering in the wind as she stood on the balcony. 

“All right, Little Bird?” he asked in a rasping voice. Sansa turned to him, tip of her nose still flushed and eyes still bright from her tears, but she nodded. He noticed a handprint on her upper right arm, and rage ignited in the pit of his stomach. He bit his tongue. He had learned his lesson long ago about speaking out against his employers, no matter how bad the treatment of the Stark girl was getting. 

The two of them stood in a comfortable silence, looking out at the twilight sky. They had forged a bond here in the Baratheon mansion- both hating where they were, but with nowhere else to go. Sandor hadn’t liked Sansa much when she first moved in after her engagement to Joffrey was announced- she was far too whimsical for him, far too immersed in the fantasy of the wealth and luxury the marriage could grant her, too naive to see what she was really getting into. He had this annoying urge to protect her, which only complicated matters. He was supposed to be security for the Lannisters/Baratheons, not for this red headed newcomer. 

It wasn’t until the fantasy turned sour, and Sansa saw her fiance’s true colors, that the two misfits had turned to one another. Sandor had found her one night, cheek bright red from a slap laid on her, likely not by Joffrey, but one of the other members of security Cersei had hired. They hadn’t spoken, but he had taken her back the kitchens, cracked open a couple of beers, and sat down with her. He had expected her to cry, but she didn’t, not that night. Instead, she had regaled him with tales of her family, her many siblings and her parents, a fierceness shining behind her eyes. It was then that Sandor realized that he rather liked this slip of a woman, who despite her fancy airs, downed multiple beers in a matter of minutes, and laughed while the handprint etched in her face still stung. 

It wasn’t until a bit later that he had begun to fall for her. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sansa broke the silence, still staring into the distance. 

“I think I’d rather hear yours.” 

She was silent for a few moments more. 

“I was thinking about something my father said to me,” she said quietly, referring to her younger sister. “Something he used to say when we were children.”

“Care to enlighten me?” 

“The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. I don’t think I understood what that meant until now.” 

“And what’s that?” 

She finally turned and looked at him, eyes blazing into his soul it seemed, into his very heart. She smiled. 

“I was a lone wolf when I came here. No family, no pack, and I almost died. Now I’m not alone. I can survive.” 

As she moved closer to him, leaning on his arm, he thought that maybe that saying had some merit to it. 

***  
Alayne exited the bookshop, heading for the bakery just down the street, which she had heard was run by someone named Podrick. Something about the encounter with the owner of the bookshop, Sandor Clegane, had troubled her. 

The way he had stared at her, it could be chalked up to awkwardness, but it had seemed like he recognized her from somewhere. He looked shell-shocked, almost as though he had seen a ghost. 

Of course, having moved into town only a few days ago, the likelihood of him ever having seen her before was rare. She had only come here once the arrangements for the shop were taken care of by her uncle, and before that she had lived in a tiny mountain town that very few people visited. 

And considering his impressive build and even more impressive scarring, she would have remembered him. 

She did like the shop though. She had been meaning to get back into reading. And despite his odd staring, she did like the owner. 

Sandor Clegane. It was a nice name.


	2. Coffee Cups

Sandor was making his way back from Podrick’s coffee shop, where he would occasionally stop for a pick-me-up around lunchtime. The younger man would often press a muffin or some other type of pastry on him, as well as his black house coffee, despite Sandor’s protests. At this point, it was a game that they both played- both he and Podrick knew that he would accept, and thoroughly enjoy, the pastry, but it was a part of his routine now, and Sandor had always liked his routine. 

Of course, yet again, that routine would be interrupted by the arrival of Alayne, who came walking briskly around the corner, nearly careening into Sandor in the process.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” she said, steadying herself with a hand on his upper arm. Her touch burned like fire. Sandor forced himself to speak. If he continued to be mute around the woman, she would start to think something was amiss. 

“Nevermind that, girl, you’re all right,” he said, wiping a drop of coffee from his sleeve where it had jumped from his cup. 

“I’ve made you spill,” Alayne said regretfully, wincing. 

“Only a drop. Not to worry.” 

Sandor turned to unlock the door to his shop, expecting Alayne to continue on her way, but the dark haired woman hovered behind him, like a bird, Sandor found himself thinking. He put the thought out of his mind. 

Turning back to her, he raised his eyebrows. “Something I can help you with?” 

Alayne gave him a sheepish smile. “I was actually hoping to run into you. I have a favor to ask.” 

“Shoot.” He replied. 

“Well, you see, I open shop tomorrow, but there’s still some setup I have to do. I was wondering if I could borrow you this afternoon?” 

“No friends around to help?” Sandor said. He cursed himself immediately, seeing her smile wilt. Why couldn’t he keep his damn mouth shut?

“No. I haven’t lived here long.” She said, lifting her chin as if daring him to continue. “I know its a lot to ask. I’d compensate you properly for your time, of course.” 

Sandor ran his hand across his face, stopping himself from shaking his head. 

“There’s no need for that. What time?” 

Alayne’s stern mask dropped a moment. He had startled her. 

“That’s kind of you. I was thinking I’d start around four, but I wouldn't ask you to close early. Whenever is convenient.” She said, blue eyes studying him. He nodded. 

“Four it is.” 

And with that, he went inside, leaving Alayne on the step, still with a calculating look on her face. 

The remaining hours until four went quickly. Sandor helped a couple of regular customers- a younger man, Sam, who came in at least twice a week, and his new girlfriend, who seemed to take to both Sam and the shop like a moth to light; and an older woman, Olenna, who would insist in a high voice that “being well read was a virtue often lost on the younger generation”. He thought wryly that she and Sam should cross paths one day and perhaps she’d change her tune. 

An hour before he was set to meet Alayne, the bell above the door jingled, and a lithe, slightly greasy man walked in. 

“What brings a cunt like you to a place like this?” Sandor called out. 

“What gives, a cunt like you owning a place like this?” the man called out. 

This was a customary greeting between Sandor and Bronn, who owned the mechanic shop just down the street. There were few people Sandor would consider a friend, but Bronn was one of the few. The two men had met years back. Bronn had been personal security for Jaime Lannister for a time, leaving just before Sansa had moved into the mansion. When Sandor finally got the balls to get out from under the Lannister’s heel, Bronn had been the one to suggest that he buy the shop for sale near his own.

“Thought I’d pop in, see if we’re still on for tonight? Tormund wants to try that new place downtown, but we can talk him out of it.” Bronn said, walking up to the counter.

“Ah, shit,” Sandor cursed. 

Bronn raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you forgot, now?” 

Sandor scratched the back of his head. “I may have made some other plans. Last minute.” 

Bronn leaned his forearms on the counter. “Well, if you’re abandoning me with Tormund for the night, I think I’ve a right to be privy to those plans.” 

Sandor rolled his eyes. Bronn always took too much of an interest in his personal life. 

“If you must know, the girl with the flower shop across the street asked me to help her set up.” 

Bronn’s eyebrows flew up so high they might as well be in orbit, and a slow grin spread across his face. “The lovely Alayne Stone? Well, if she needs help setting up, I suppose I could make some time in my schedule for a lass like her.” 

“If she didn’t ask you, she probably don’t want your ugly mug around,” Sandor chuckled. 

“But she apparently wants your ugly mug around,” Bronn said with a wink. Sandor couldn’t help the flare of pride he felt at those words. 

“Ah, fuck off,” he said. “Out of here with you. I’ll come round for drinks if I have the time.” 

With a last wink and a chuckle, Bronn moseyed out the door. Sandor looked at the clock. Only 45 minutes to kill. 

***

At 4:01 exactly, Sandor found himself outside the door of Eyrie Flowers. Alayne was inside, surveying the space. Sandor knocked, and her gaze flew up to him, and her carefully guarded smile appeared on her face. She waved him in. 

He looked around as he walked in. The layout was nice- it had a rustic feel to it, with a brick wall at the back, and wood floors. Alayne had already strung up some delicate lights along the ceiling, which illuminated the place with a faint but pleasant glow. 

“Thanks for coming. I really appreciate the help.” Alayne said as he walked in. 

“It’s no trouble. What needs doing?” Sandor asked, rolling up his sleeves. He caught Alayne glancing at him as he did so. If he was a different man, the scrutiny of her gaze might have made him blush. 

“You’re very to the point, aren’t you?” She asked him. He gave a slight nod. 

“Aye, suppose so. That a problem?” Sandor knew that his blunt nature wasn’t for everyone, although he hadn’t expected Alayne to take offense to it. Sansa never had- but he supposed it was unfair to compare Alayne to his lost little bird. Even though he had already done so extensively. 

“No, I like it. It’s refreshing. Eloquent men are more likely to be sinister than men who speak their minds, I’ve found.” Alayne replied with a small smile. This one seemed genuine. 

Then she clapped her hands, and the moment was gone. “Right, let’s get to work.”

The two of them worked well and quickly, Alayne doing most of the dictating and arranging, while Sandor did much of the heavier lifting. He didn’t mind being bossed around by her- it was familiar, even comfortable. If he didn’t think too hard, he could almost see Sansa, lounging on a chair, ordering him to get her another drink, with a playful glint in her eyes. She was never demanding, but he had found early on that no matter how large or small the request, if she wanted something done he would do it for her. 

He tried to shake the thoughts out of his head, but they kept invading. Alayne moved like Sansa, graceful and lithe, like a dancer. He heard her laugh for the first time, and she laughed like Sansa, soft and chirping. The quirk in her smile, the dimple on the left side of her face, the way her eyes would settle on something and her gaze become lost and thoughtful; it was all so much like his little bird that he felt as though a hand was constricting around his heart, squeezing tighter and tighter until it might burst. 

As though to counteract that, a feeling of shame was settling in his gut. Shame was not an emotion that Sandor was unfamiliar with, but this was a different kind of guilt. The similarities he saw were surely the result of wishful thinking, the useless dreams he would have of Sansa slipping back into his life as though she had never left, and Alayne didn’t deserve to be compared to a ghost. 

By the time they were done setting up, and Alayne was sitting back, surveying the work with a hint of satisfaction in her eyes, more comfortable than he had seen her yet, Sandor had decided that this would be the last interaction they had one on one. He couldn’t take much more. 

“Thank you so much, Sandor,” Alayne said, and hearing his name on her lips made the hand on his heart constrict tighter. The cadence of his name was the same was when Sansa said it, but it had none of the emotion behind it. He had to leave. 

“Not a problem.” He said shortly, avoiding her gaze. 

“I wish you’d let me compensate you-”she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. 

“That’s not necessary.”

“Well, in that case..” She trailed off, pulling her lower lip between her teeth in a way that made Sandor's blood run hot. “Maybe we can go for a coffee? My treat?”

Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Sandor prepared his answer. 

“I, well, I don’t drink coffee this late,” he said, already groaning at the excuse. 

“Oh,” Alayne replied, looking crestfallen. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. She had been nervous to ask, he realized, and that was the breaking point. 

“Tomorrow? I usually go to the one down the street. Around lunchtime.” 

Alayne brightened instantly, the first truly genuine, happy smile he had seen from her so far, and he could imagine her hair was red and it was Sansa smiling at him. 

“Tomorrow is good for me,” she said. “Here, let me give you my number.” 

As she turned to get a piece of paper, Sandor let out a breath. What was he doing? He had just resolved to never see this woman again. But, on the other hand… Sansa Stark had been missing for two years. He hadn’t seen her for over three years. She had turned him down; they had never dated. Maybe it was time for him to move on. 

As Alayne turned back around to him, still smiling, he couldn’t find it in him to regret the decision, despite the guilt coiling in his gut. After all, he was just a man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this little story has gotten so much more love already than I would have expected! Thank you to everyone who left comments (I'll be going through and replying when I have a chance) and to everyone who has left other feedback. Knowing people are enjoying the story is the best motivation I can get. I hope you all enjoy this new chapter, I had a lot of fun writing it, and I will be posting the next one within the next week if all goes according to plan!


	3. Dreams and Desires

“Thank you for coming in, have a lovely morning!” Alayne said as a customer departed, a quiet man leaving with a bouquet for his wife. He left through the front door, the bell playing a cheerful tune, leaving the shop empty. Alayne was pleased with business so far- opening day had been a success, and her business seemed to have good prospects, filling a need for the customer not met anywhere else in the area. It seemed as though she had done her research well. 

She took the opportunity to tidy up the shop. She was a busy person by nature, and this tendency exponentially increased when she was bothered or preoccupied. The focus of her bother this time was the enigma of a man who worked at the bookshop across the street. There had been no word from him for two days, since they had gotten coffee on her lunch break on the day her shop opened. That in itself had been… odd. She had expected it to feel more like a date, but in truth it was just the two of them grabbing a coffee and walking back towards the shops together. He had her number, had used it to text her when to meet him at the coffee shop, but hadn’t used it since. 

She sighed, adjusting some flowers on display, refreshing the water they rested in. Perhaps she had misread things between the two of them. Alayne knew she was an attractive woman- she had no shortage of evidence for that fact, and she had thought that Sandor found her attractive as well. And she found herself oddly attracted to him. Not her usual type, to be sure- she leaned more towards pretty blond boys, not unlike Jaime Lannister, though she couldn’t look at him without an odd feeling of dread in her stomach. Sandor was many things, but he was not a pretty blond boy. No, Sandor was all man, and Alayne found herself more attracted to him than she would have thought possible. It appeared the feeling was not reciprocated. 

Oh, stop it, she thought to herself, mentally slapping herself out of it. She was a strong and proud woman, a business owner now, and she had no time to be second guessing herself over some man. Her uncle Petyr always said that no man was good enough for her.

But…. a part of her whispered, there was a connection. She couldn’t deny it. She had felt something with Sandor, when he helped her set up shop, something familiar, something comfortable. It was almost as though she knew him, although surely a face as distinct as his would have remained in her memory. 

Before the crash? 

Alayne’s movement stopped as this idea occurred to her, but before she had time to pursue it further, the bell above the door jingled its cheery tune. 

“Welcome in, how can I help you today?” Alayne said as she turned around, only to be faced with Sandor. Her eyes widened, drinking in his appearance. The bookshop owner was wearing a dark blue button down with his usual dark jeans, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms- and what nice forearms they were- and he was holding two coffees in his hands. 

“Sandor!” She said with a smile, making up her mind to be polite. If he didn’t want to be involved, the two could at least be friends, or at the very very least, friendly acquaintances. She quirked her eyebrows and pointedly looked at the two coffee cups. 

“Sleep alright last night?” She asked. 

“What? Oh-” Sandor cut himself off, following her gaze to the coffee. “No, there’s a new barista at Podrick’s place, got my order wrong. It’s the same type of caramel shit you ordered, thought it’d be stupid to waste.” 

He thrust one of the cups at her, a bit of foam sloshing over the lid. Alayne took it, fingertips brushing against his, and she saw him swallow. 

“Thank you, Sandor, that was sweet of you to think of me. Can I pay you back?” She asked, quirking a smile at him. 

“No, no need, it was on the house since they fucked mine up. You were on the way back, it’s no trouble.” Sandor seemed a bit flustered. A growing suspicion was dawning on Alayne, and she could feel a smile growing on her face. 

“Well, regardless, I appreciate it. I needed a bit of a boost. Thank you.” She said cheerfully. 

“No need to thank me girl,” Sandor said, seemingly unable to meet her gaze. “I best be off, don’t want to leave the shop closed too long.” 

“Of course. I’ll see you around, Sandor,” Alayne said. The large man nodded and made a hasty retreat. 

Alayne took a sip of the coffee and smiled. It was her exact order from two days ago. Maybe she hadn’t misread things after all. 

***

She was in her bare feet, tiptoeing through a corridor more magnificent than anything she had ever seen, but her sense of grandeur was diminished by the sting of the welts on the back of her legs. The injuries caused her pain, and a golden haired face with cruel eyes swam in her head as the perpetrator, but she felt no apprehension as she approached the door to her left. She wore a light dress, and flaming red hair hung loose around her face, not the way the golden haired man liked it, but the way the man waiting behind the door did. 

She swung the door open quietly. This was a secret place. 

The man waiting in the small room lifted his head. His hair was pulled back, and his face was a snarl of angry scars, but his eyes were kind, and his hands were gentle as he pulled her towards him. 

“You’re limping, little bird,” he said in a quiet, rasping voice. She nodded. 

The man’s face tightened in anger, an anger he did not often let her see. 

“Which one?” 

“Does it matter?” she heard her own voice respond. 

“It matters to me.” 

She grasped his large hand in dainty fingers, squeezing gently to try to reassure him. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Not this time. But if that cunt ever found out we were meeting…” he trailed off. 

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. You’re all I have here.” She was desperate. She couldn’t lose him. He was important to her. 

He looked up at her, a desperation in his dark eyes that matched her own, and without either of them realizing they had gravitated to each other, so close that less than an inch separated them. She was breathless, more intoxicated by the anticipation of him than by any liquor she had ever drank. 

His hand reached towards her, taking a strand of her hair between his fingers and letting it fall. 

In a voice so quiet and hoarse that she would have missed it had they not been so close, he whispered her name. 

“Sansa.” 

With a start, Alayne woke, out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed, but the finer details of the dream were already starting to slip from her waking mind. What was the name that he had whispered? Sarah? Something that started with an “S”. It felt important, but it was gone. All that remained was the emotion, the feeling and anticipation of the man in the room. The sense of safety, of warmth, of desire and security, all tied into one. 

Alayne fell back onto her pillow, running a hand through her dark hair, almost expecting to see it glow scarlet in the dark. The only other thing that remained was that the man had looked an awful lot like Sandor. 

***  
Alayne was very groggy the next morning. After the strange dream she had, she hadn’t been able to fall back to sleep. It wasn’t the first time she had had odd dreams, but this one had been very realistic, and it troubled her. She had even been thinking of calling her uncle and asking him if he or she had ever known Sandor Clegane, or someone who even looked like him, but decided against it. Uncle Petyr was very suspicious of any man in her life, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to bring that down onto Sandor over something as silly as a dream. 

She sighed as she bent over a vase. She was truly being silly. Sandor had been on her mind so much recently, it made sense that he would play a starring role in her dreams. Even in such an odd and specific dream as that. She thought she would have preferred a sex dream, something easier to sort out in her head. 

She was so preoccupied and tired that she missed the jingling of the bells above the door altogether, so when she heard a gruff voice say her name, she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“Didn’t mean to startle you, girl,” Sandor said, looking apologetic but also slightly amused. 

“Not your fault,” Alayne said, trying to laugh the incident off. “I’m just a bit jumpy today.” 

She tried to slow the beating of her heart, whose rapid pace was steadily becoming less to do with the scare and more to do with him. She felt a pang of want, of desire, deep inside of her, just as she had in her dream. 

Some of that must have shown on her face, because Sandor was starting to look at her oddly. 

“You all right?” He asked. 

“Yes, of course, I’m so sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night, I’ve been out of it all morning.” She said airily, waving a hand in the air. Sandor didn't look convinced. 

“I can come back if this is a bad time,” he said, starting to turn towards the door.

“No, no! It’s not a bad time. Did you need something?” Alayne asked. 

“No, just stopping in.” 

Alayne furrowed her eyebrows. Sandor, from her short time of knowing him, didn’t seem like someone to just stop in. 

Unless he stopped in just to see me. 

“I should probably get back to my shop,” he said, and made for the door.

“Wait!” Alayne called. He turned to look at her quizzically, and she said the first thing that came to her mind. 

“I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner tomorrow night?” 

Shell shocked didn’t begin to describe the expression on Sandor’s face. He probably would have looked less surprised had she confessed to a murder. 

I did ask him to coffee, he shouldn’t be so surprised, she thought with amusement. It was a bit endearing. 

 

“Dinner?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Like.. a date?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re asking me on a date.” 

“Yes,” Alayne replied for the third time. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just thought-” 

Sandor cut her off with a shake of his head. “Just tell me when and what time.” 

Alayne smiled. “I’ll text you the details?” 

Sandor nodded. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

Sandor nodded again, and walked out like a man caught in a dream, stopping to glance back in through the window. 

Alayne sailed through the rest of the day with a smile on her face, and slept soundly that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit late, I've been swamped with exams and haven't found much time to write recently! I've also found that Alayne's point of view is much more difficult for me to write than Sandor's for some reason, but I hope that you guys enjoy the chapter! Thanks so much for all the great reviews and feedback!


	4. Dine and Dash

Sandor stood outside the prominent, excruciatingly fancy entrance to the Rose Garden, a high end, high scale restaurant on the rich side of town. He fiddled with his sleeves. He knew Alayne was waiting for him inside, but he was starting to feel.. Underdressed. For possibly the first time in his long friendship with Bronn, he was wishing he had taken the man’s advice and put on a tie. 

A young woman on the arm of a tastefully older gentleman looked at him, did a double take, and picked up her pace. Sandor grimaced. Yes, he and his face and his scars and his… well everything, didn’t belong in this place. He might have turned tail and run, like a hound, like the kids at school had called him, if he hadn’t seen Alayne standing in the entrance, clearly looking for him. 

She was wearing a deep blue dress that hit just above her knees, showcasing her mile-high legs, which looked even taller with the slight heel she was wearing. Her dark hair was down, flowing around her shoulders, and a gold necklace sparked on her chest as the light hit it. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, and her relieved smile as she caught sight of him was worth a million sideways glances from the fancier patrons of the restaurant.

“There you are! I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show,” she confessed, tucking her hair behind her ear, a smile lighting up her face. Smiles seemed to be coming to her more easily now, he noted. Much like the way Sansa used to smile at him. 

Then he put the Stark girl out of his mind. Tonight was about Alayne, not Sansa. He owed it to Alayne- no, he corrected, he owed it to himself, to try that. 

“Running a bit late, that’s all. Sorry to make you wait.” His response sounded awkward and stilted, even in his ears, and he winced. Alayne, if she noticed, didn’t show it. 

“Shall we go in?” She asked. 

“Sure, but we best brace ourselves for a bit of a wait. There’s always a line round the block to get into this bitch.” Sandor winced again. Calling the restaurant Alayne had chosen a bitch may not have been the best move, on his part. But she startled him with a laugh. 

“We don’t need to worry about that, I have a table already.” She breezed in, and Sandor followed her like a kite stuck in her wake. 

The host nodded as she came in, and was well-bred enough to only take a small double take at the man she had dragged in. 

“This way to your table, Miss Stone.” 

They arrived at a small, intimate table near the back of the restaurant. It was set already, with pristine crystal glasses and the Rose Garden’s signature bouquet in the middle of the table. As the two sat down, a waiter rushed up with two menus, retreating so quickly he may as well have not arrived at all. 

“How’d you manage a table like this?” Sandor asked as Alayne picked up her menu. “This place doesn’t take reservations.” 

“Oh, my uncle has a table on reserve here. For business, but he won’t mind if we borrow it for the evening,” Alayne said with an airy wave. “You should try the ribeye, I’ve heard they make it very well here.” 

Sandor glanced at his menu, and raised his eyebrows at the price. When he looked up, Alayne was covering a smile with her hand. 

“Laughing at me, girl?” 

“Never,” Alayne said, removing her hand from her mouth and attempting to look prim. “A lady never laughs at a gentleman.” 

That caused Sandor to bark out a laugh of his own. “Laugh away, then, I’m no gentleman.” 

“Suppose I’ll have to pay my own way, then?” 

Sandor gave her a semi-horrified look, as he calculated the cost of paying for both dinners in his head- though he thought, at this point, no amount of money would be too much. Alayne was growing on him, and more quickly than he would like. 

“I’m kidding!” She said, taking his silence as a bad sign. “This is all on me.” 

Sandor opened his mouth to protest, and she gave him a stern glare. “I’m a modern woman, with her own business, and I asked you. This is on me. And if you try to argue I will walk out of this restaurant and leave you here by yourself.” 

Sandor held up his hands. “I surrender,” he said, a small smile forming in the corner of his mouth. 

Alayne nodded self importantly. “Good. That was a test and you passed.” 

Before Sandor could respond, the waiter walked up to the table and asked their orders. The whole encounter, he kept his eyes only on Alayne, shooting either disgusted or frightened glances at Sandor. It could be both, he supposed, the two were often mixed. He could feel his face getting hot. The looks of strangers didn’t much bother him anymore, but for a moment he had forgotten his scars, his general appearance, and the environment they were in. 

The waiter’s looks didn’t get past Alayne, however. Her mouth tightened and her eyes turned steely. It was a very familiar look to Sandor, though he didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Sansa had gained that look a month into the mansion. 

Alayne looked towards Sandor, and was about to say something to the waiter, but Sandor shook his head. She continued looking at the man in a cold eyed fury until he left with their orders. 

“Sandor, I’m so sorry, that was completely unacceptable behavior. I can ask for a different server, and I’ll put in a complaint-” 

“There’s no need. Lad wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary,” Sandor replied reluctantly. Some of the anger fell out of Alayne’s face, replaced with concern. 

“What do you mean?” 

Sandor looked at her impatiently. “Look around, girl. I’m not exactly the usual patron of this type of place. I’ve been getting looks all night. It’s nothing I’m not used to.” 

Alayne’s face fell, and she bit her lip, looking away. Sandor sighed. 

“I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just something I live with.” 

“But you shouldn't have to deal with that kind of treatment,” Alayne said quietly. She met his eyes again. “Do you want to go somewhere else? I should have asked if you were ok with this place, I just...my uncle always said this was the place to go for a date, and I wasn’t thinking-” 

Sandor shook his head. “No point, we’ve already ordered. Besides, when that cunt comes back I want to try to make him squirm.” 

The smile had returned to Alayne’s face, a sparkle in her eye. Then her face turned serious, her blue eyes looking at him with an intense scrutiny. 

“Can I ask about your scars? You don’t have to tell me, if you’re not comfortable, but I have wondered.” 

Sandor shifted uneasily in his seat. “I could tell you, but it’s not a pretty story.” 

“I didn’t expect it to be.” 

***  
“It’s not a pretty story, little bird.” Sandor said, avoiding the girl’s gaze. 

“I didn’t expect it to be. Most stories aren’t pretty, I think. I’d still like to know.” 

Sansa was sitting across from him in one of the many sitting rooms in the mansion, hands in her lap as she looked at him intently. The guard had just switched shifts- Joeffrey insisted on Sansa having a man on her at all times, for her safety, he said, but likely as much to prevent her escape. 

It had been a few months since Sansa moved into the mansion. A month ago, Joffrey had started to show his true colors. Less than a month ago, Sansa and Sandor had started talking, after the night in the kitchen, two lonely souls finding solace in one another. The Stark girl had already gotten under his skin, far more than he was comfortable with, but Sandor found himself unable to resist. 

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want.” Sansa’s pleading blue eyes told another story. She seemed to want to know everything about him, from his preferred drink to his favorite book to whether he preferred sunrise or sunset, and now his scars. From anyone else, Sandor would have shut down the questions a long time ago. But for every piece of information Sansa got about him, he would learn something about her, and the glimpses into her world were intoxicating. Ever since she told him she preferred sunrises, he found himself waking up just to see them. 

“It was my brother.” Sandor blurted out. Sansa turned towards him again, giving him her rapt and undivided attention. 

“Your brother?” 

He nodded, swallowing hard. The story was still difficult to tell, no matter how many years passed. 

“We were boys, Gregor a few years older than me. The cunt was always a little psychopath, he used to skin animals in the woods outside the house. Sorry,” he apologized, as Sansa had winced visibly at the mention of the skinned animals. “Didn’t mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.” 

Sansa shot him a look so withering he nearly laughed. “Don’t be an ass.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “The little bird chips dirty words now, I see.” 

Sansa threw back her head, laughter spilling from her throat like music. She didn’t laugh often, but when she did it was often at Sandor. He had never had someone laugh at him because he was funny before. Most laughter was cruel, he found, but not hers. 

“This little bird will chirp more dirty words if you don’t finish your story.” She said, serious, but still a playful air surrounding her. 

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “We were camping, one night, Gregor and me. We had a fire. I was about seven. We were fighting, playing knights or some shit like that, and I hit him too hard with the stick. He grabbed me and held my face in the campfire. Rest is history.” 

He shrugged, avoiding Sansa’s eyes.

“You were seven?” she asked quietly. He nodded, glancing at her. Sansa’s bright eyes were brighter than usual, shining with unshed tears, her lips pressed into a straight line. He was unable to look away, held in place like a statue by her gaze. 

“I think you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known.” she said simply. They held each other’s gaze for a long moment, and Sandor found it in him to want something he had never wanted before. 

“Not as brave as you, little bird.” 

Sansa opened her mouth to reply, but the door burst open, and the golden haired Joffrey entered. 

“Sansa, babe, it’s time for dinner.” He said, sweeping over and pulling her up. He didn’t seem to notice the tension in the air. “Was the Hound bothering you?” 

Sansa’s face had closed off, turning into the guarded mask she wore around her fiancee, a perfectly fake smile plastered on. She glanced at Sandor, and for a small moment the mask fell. 

“No, my love, he wasn’t. He was only guarding me, as you commanded. Thank you for looking out for me,” she said, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. The girl had become quite good at manipulating the Baratheon boy. “What would you like to eat tonight?” 

The two walked out of the room arm in arm, leaving Sandor alone with his thoughts, and the words you’re the bravest man I’ve ever known ringing in his ears. 

****  
“Rest is history.” Sandor finished, glancing up at Alayne. Her eyes were dry, but she looked at him with a similar intensity. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you. Thank you for telling me.” she said quietly, but the sentiment was genuine. Regardless, a pit formed in Sandor’s stomach. He didn’t know what he expected- for Alayne to react as Sansa did, maybe, but something about the reaction was different. 

Their food arrived, as did another interruption. 

“Sandor?” A familiar voice called out. He looked up to see a remarkably tall woman with short blonde hair waving at him, Jaime Lannister on her arm. Who would have expected to see Brienne Tarth in a place like this?

“Tarth,” he growled good naturally, and Brienne grinned. The two of them had gone out for a short time, but the break had been mutual, and they remained good friends. 

“What the hell are you doing in a place like this?” she asked, walking over, Jamie in her wake. Sandor looked the man up and down- Jaime was the only Lannister he hadn’t met, and if it wasn’t for Brienne’s good recommendation, he wouldn’t have tolerated his presence. 

Before he could answer her question, Brienne saw Alayne. A shadow passed over her face, before she extended a hand. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I didn’t realize you were on a date. I’m Brienne, and this is Jaime.” 

“Alayne,” she responded, her face stiff but polite. Jaime extended his hand as well. 

“Charmed, Alayne.” he said with a cheeky grin, and the smile nearly faltered from Alayne’s face. She only nodded before withdrawing her hand. 

Sandor and Jaime shook hands, and the couple excused themselves, but not before Brienne whispered “text me!” fiercely in Sandor’s ear. 

Alayne and Sandor sat awkwardly, Alayne not even attempting to pick at her food. Her face was pale. 

“All right?” Sandor asked. “I’m, er, sorry for that, Brienne’s an old friend.” 

Alayne seemed to shake herself out of a stupor. 

“Yes, sorry, I’ve just lost my appetite. Do you mind if we head out?” she asked, already flagging down the server for the check. 

“Course not,” Sandor said quietly.   
****  
When they got outside, Alayne seemed to perk up some, although her reaction mystified Sandor to begin with. There was no way she could have known he and Brienne had dated, so he wasn’t sure where the interaction had gone wrong, but he wanted to fix it. 

“I can drive you home if you’d like,” he offered, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. 

Alayne pursed her lips in thought. 

“Actually, I could use a drink. Know any good places?” 

Sandor did in fact know several good places.   
****  
Sandor knew he shouldn’t have gotten drunk. 

He took Alayne to a place nice enough that their fancier dress wouldn’t stand out, but was enough of a hole in the wall that the drink prices wouldn’t skyrocket. Maybe that was where he went wrong- cheaper prices meant he could afford more drinks, for both he and Alayne, who was matching him shot for shot. The drunker he got, the more Sansa and Alayne seemed to merge until they were one and the same. Sansa in his head was decked in flowers, Alayne’s eyes held the same depths as Sansa’s. As the alcohol invaded his vision, the room faded away until it was just them, just him and Sansa-Alayne, and every part of him yearned to be closer to her. When Alayne suggested they walk back to her apartment, which wasn’t far from the bar, it was like Sansa invited him into her room- but that wasn’t right, he and Sansa had never- but they could now. He and Alayne could. So he said yes. 

Outside her door Alayne pushed him against the wall, and her lips were on his, full and soft but demanding, insistent, her soft hands on either side of his face, not flinching from his scars but caressing them. Then his hands were around her waist, pulling her flush against his body, and she moaned into his mouth. He tangled a hand in her hair and her hair was fire, her touch was scorching him, burning deeper and deeper into his skin until he knew he could never get it out.

Her lips traveled from his lips downward, down to his neck. 

“Little bird,” he groaned, and the full impact of his words hit as Alayne moaned against and began to kiss him again, harder and desperate. This was not his little bird, this was not Sansa; this was Alayne. 

“Stop.” he whispered against her lips. 

Alayne froze, and pulled back slowly, still close enough for him to smell the shampoo she used in her hair, and that was too close. 

“What’s-” 

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I- I can’t.” Sandor pushed himself off of the wall and hurried down the stairs. As he turned on to the sidewalk, he glanced back once, and Alayne was both Alayne and Sansa, standing motionless as he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got this chapter up! Its a bit longer than usual, but it was a lot of fun to write, so I really hope you guys like it! As always thank you so much for reading and for all of the positive feedback this story is getting, it really means a lot that people seem to like this little thing.


	5. Chapter 5

Alayne stood alone on her doorstep, staring out into the night, arms wrapped around herself against the chill Sandor left behind, for some time after the man had walked off. Her face was stone and her blue eyes were ice, a picturesque statue standing guard against the dark. With wooden movements, she took out her keys, opened the door, and strode in, slipping out of her heels and placing her purse on the table by the door. She walked into the bathroom, turning on the water and unclasping her dress, the blue fabric crumpling on the floor. She took off her necklace and laid it gently on the counter next to the sink. When the water was hot and steaming, she stepped in, droplets burning into her flesh, and the sting of it matched the sting of tears in her eyes as she slid to the tiled floor of the shower. 

Her sobs were quiet, controlled, as her demeanor always was. Alayne was not a woman who would let herself slip, placing everything behind a barrier. Sandor had broken it down somehow, fitting into a place that she hadn’t realized was empty. But now she had to put it back up, patch the dam, or else she risked herself being torn apart. 

She sniffed, and stood up, washing the makeup off of her face and scrubbing her body and hair. She wrapped herself in a towel, hair hanging down her shoulders in dripping strands. She saw a glint of red shining through the ebony, and sighed. She’d have to dye it again soon. She’d had dark hair since the accident, had woken up with her ebony locks, but it wasn’t her natural color. She wasn’t sure where the red came from- Uncle Petyr certainly didn’t have any red hair, but she had never thought to ask when he told her that she had preferred it dark. 

She sat on the edge of her bed, looking out the window blankly. She could feel the tears coming again, and set her jaw, fighting them back.

She had thought things were going well. Sandor seemed to be warming to her, he told her about his scars, and even though the date wasn’t somewhere he would usually go, they had been having fun. She hadn't had fun in quite some time. 

Maybe she shouldn’t have suggested the bar. Stupid girl, she knew she got sloppy when she was drunk. That’s what Uncle Petyr had told her, and he had been right. She had just been so… shaken up, by the appearance of Jaime Lannister. She knew who he was, of course, everyone knew who Jaime Lannister was. On paper, he would be her type, but his angelic looks and his golden hair had set off something in her, a pit in her stomach that confused and frightened her. She just wanted to continue the date, get back to normal… but that had clearly been a mistake. 

She didn’t think she had mistaken Sandor’s attraction to her, he had been kissing her back very enthusiastically. She must have done something wrong. She had been shocked that he had left, but his leaving also felt familiar, as though she had seen him walk away from her before. 

Come with me, little bird. 

She shook her head vehemently, trying to dislodge the voice from her head. She just needed to go to bed, sleep it off, and she could deal with everything in the morning.  
She put on her nightclothes, fingers slipping over the familiar scarring on her legs as she pulled up her shorts. Maybe it was best things hadn’t gone further with Sandor; she wasn’t sure she knew how to explain the scars. 

***

“You’re leaving.” 

Sandor shifted uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes. “Aye. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t work for these cunts.” 

He had crept into her room that night, after the others were asleep, as he had done a few times before. She was excited to see him, more excited than befit a friend, until he dropped the news. He was resigning as security, leaving in the morning. 

“You’re leaving me here. With them.” Her voice sounded strange, even to herself. Her throat felt tight, and her breath was coming with difficulty. Sandor’s eyes snapped to hers, and she was taken aback with the intensity with which he met her gaze. 

“No. I’m not leaving you. Come with me, little bird.” he said, his voice raspy and quiet. She stayed quiet, turning away from him, grasping her forearms and clenching. The large man took two strides towards her and took her shoulder, turning her back around to face him. 

“Come with me.” 

He was close to her, closer than they had been in some time, his breath mingling with hers. 

“Do you know what they’d do to me? What Joffrey would do to me if they ever found me?” She spit out, fear nearly stopping her voice. Her fiance was ruthless, and becoming more ruthless by the day. She was guarded round the clock, a literal prisoner, but at least here she could keep an eye on him, know where he was and what was coming. 

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you. No one would hurt you again. I’d kill them if they tried.” Sandor said, his voice betraying a desperation she had never heard from him before. Sandor was not a man who showed his emotions, and this display nearly swayed her until his words sunk in. 

She shrugged out of his grasp, taking two steps back, not breaking eye contact. 

“You’ve never stopped them before.” She said quietly. 

The look on his face nearly broke her. She knew the words would hurt, but they came from a place of truth- should she become a fugitive for this man, running from the their endless connections of her captors for the rest of her life, for this man who swore to protect her? He would never hurt her, she knew, but the scarring on her body and the pain she had endured these past months told a different story of his promise. 

What if it was a trick?

“Sansa-” he said hoarsely, stepping towards her, but she turned away again, a tear slipping down her cheek. 

“If you’re leaving, then go.” Her voice was stony. She heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, then footsteps. She glanced over her shoulder, only to see his back as he walked out, shutting the door behind him. 

***  
Alayne awoke to tears on her face, sobs escaping her in harsh breaths. She curled in on herself, and she felt the dam break, pain flooding in. The dreams were too realistic, too painful, too detailed, and it wasn’t fair. Things were complicated enough without hyper realistic dreams of abandonment. 

Unless they weren’t dreams. Unless she did know Sandor. From before the accident? But that couldn’t be- if he knew her, he would have recognized her. Especially if they knew each other as intimately as in her dreams. 

Although…. Sometimes he did look at her strangely. She attributed it to him being a strange man, but what if it was something more? But if that was the case, why didn’t he SAY something? Sandor was many things, but he didn’t seem one to beat around the bush. She didn't think he was capable of deception. 

It was too much- it was making her head hurt. The dream wasn’t fading in the way that dreams normally did- it lingered. 

I’m not leaving you. Come with me.

When her sobs subsided, leaving her empty and shaking, she glanced at the clock. Three in the morning. Her hand trembled as she reached out for her phone, maybe to text Sandor, maybe not- but instead her screen showed a message from her uncle. 

Coming by the shop tomorrow, can’t wait to see what you’ve done with it.

She let out a shaky breath, putting her phone back on the nightstand. She could wait until tomorrow, after she talked to Uncle Petyr. He always seemed to have exactly the right thing to say. Maybe he would know what to do about Sandor. 

 

***

The sun was breaking over the horizon, and Sandor was sitting at his kitchen table, head in his hands, eyes burning and dry as he stared into the grain of the wood. He had done a bad thing- well, he had done a lot of bad things in his life, but this one was up there. He was using Alayne, plain and simple, but even with that knowledge, he couldn’t get her soft moans and the feeling of her lips out of his mind, and couldn’t stop himself from wondering if Sansa would have moaned that way for him. 

He slammed his fists into the table, growling. He shouldn’t have just walked away from her, he should have said something. The way she stood there was far too reminiscent of Sansa when he had left her with the Lannisters, and every time he tried to think about it it was like being punched in the gut. He should have said something then, too. 

He had wanted to take Sansa with him, more than he had ever wanted anything. He knew he couldn’t work for the Lannisters anymore, he knew he couldn’t watch Joffrey hurt her anymore, but when he resigned he wasn’t expecting to leave alone. He had never intended to. 

I wouldn’t let him hurt you. No one would hurt you again. I’d kill them if they tried.

He had meant it, knew in that moment that he would kill for this woman, but she didn't believe him. 

You’ve never stopped them before. 

And she was right. He had never stopped them. He could make excuses all day long, but he had sat there and watched them hurt her, and done nothing. Sandor was no stranger to hating himself, but his self loathing had never been stronger than after that realization. So when she told him to go, he had left, had walked out the door, and a year later Sansa had disappeared, likely dead. Likely that cunt Joffrey had killed her. And he had left. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to punch something, but more than anything he was tired. Tired to his bones. The weight of Sansa had rested on his shoulders and on his heart for years, and he couldn’t fathom continuing to carry it, but he would for the rest of his life. 

***  
He knew he should open shop, but when the time came around, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not two minutes after he was supposed to open, his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen and saw Brienne’s name. He picked up. 

“What.” 

“I’m downstairs, Clegane, but you aren’t open. Let me upstairs, I need to talk to you.” 

“I’m sick,” he growled. 

“Don’t care. Let me up.” she paused. “Unless you’ve got that girl from last night up there.” 

Sandor sighed and hung up the phone, but walked down to the shop. Brienne was nothing if not stubborn. She was waiting outside the door, looking far more put together than he felt. He pulled open the door and she walked in, glancing him over. 

“You look like shit,” she said bluntly. 

Sandor glared at her. “Like I said, I’m sick.” 

Brienne snorted. “No you’re not. I know you when you’re sick. But even if you are I need to talk to you.” 

Without waiting for a response, she walked upstairs. When he came up after her, she was making coffee, like she owned the place. Whatever he had to say about the Lannister cunt, he admitted, the man had done wonders for Brienne’s confidence. 

The blonde held out a mug, and he gulped it down. 

“Who was that girl you were with last night?” She asked, straight to the point. 

“Jealous, Tarth?” he asked, the attempt half hearted. She fixed him with a glare. 

“As if. Answer the question.” 

He sighed. “Her name is Alayne Stone. Owns the flower shop across the street.” 

“How long has she been there?” Brienne asked, gaze intent. Far too alert for ass o’clock in the morning, he thought. 

“About a week. Why do you give a fuck?” he said, more harshly than he intended to. 

Brienne, to her credit, didn’t take offense. Her eyes softened and she pulled out her phone. 

“Because she looks an awful lot like the Stark girl who went missing a few years back,” she said, showing him a picture. Sansa’s face shone out of the screen at him, and he clenched his teeth. 

“Again I ask, what do you care.” 

“I work for her mother,” Brienne said. “She never stopped looking for her daughter. And they look exactly the same.” 

Sandor remained silent, not trusting his voice. 

“Sandor.” Brienne said. 

“I knew the Stark girl.” Sandor forced out. “I worked for the Lannisters for a while. Alayne isn’t her.” He sighed. “Trust me.” 

Brienne paused, then reached across the table, placing her hand on top of Sandor’s. 

“I’m sorry. Were you two close?” she asked softly. “I didn’t mean to dredge it up. I didn’t know you knew her.” 

“Aye, you could say that.” he glanced up at Brienne, hating the pity in her eyes. “I’ve had a rough night, Tarth. I need some space.” 

Brienne, thankfully, understood, withdrawing her hand and gathering her things. 

“Of course. But Sandor,” she paused. “We’re still friends. If you need to, I don’t know, talk-”

He nodded sharply. “I know.” 

With a backwards glance and a nod, Brienne left, and Sandor finally let a rough sob escape his throat. 

***  
Later that afternoon, Sandor was down in the shop, arranging a few things for the next day, and studiously avoiding looking at Eyrie Flowers, although his eyes kept betraying him. He couldn’t help but let his eyes follow the prick walking into the shop, who looked suspiciously familiar. He looked like every other smarmy asshole in the city, with slicked back salt and pepper hair and a stupid goatee, probably off to buy flowers for his wife after he cheated on her. The man turned his way for a moment, and through the window of his shop, Sandor recognized him. 

When the man entered the shop, and hugged Alayne, Sandor’s breath left him, and he felt a boiling rage in the pit of his stomach. 

Petyr Baelish, the cunt of the century, was hugging Alayne like he knew her. Petyr had been a staple around the Lannister mansion, whispering poison in the ears of anyone who would listen, but especially Sansa, as he was-

Sandor stopped in his tracks. 

Petyr knew Sansa. He was a childhood friend of her mothers. There was no way- Petry couldn’t just know someone who looked like Sansa. Brienne had recognized her without even seeing the girl. And Sandor had known her right away, of course he had, but his guilt wouldn’t let him accept the truth. 

It was one coincidence too many, and Sandor finally allowed himself to acknowledge what he had known in his gut all along. He pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Hello?” 

“Brienne. You were right. Alayne is Sansa.” 

“I’m on my way over.” 

Brienne hung up, and Sandor continued to watch the familiar interaction between Petyr and Alayne- no, between Petyr and Sansa. 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the season eight premiere, here's the next chapter! Unfortunately I didn't get the reunions I was waiting for in that first episode, but luckily I could take that rage out by writing this little fic. Things are starting to move along, and I really hope you all enjoy it! As always, thank you for all the love, comments and kudos keep me writing!


	6. Revelations and Remembrance

“Alayne, my dear, the shop is breathtaking.” Petyr Baelish complimented, honeyed words dripping from him, every word perfect, as usual. Alayne flushed- she had been worried about her uncle’s reaction to the shop, as he was the one to give her the start up money, and had put so much faith in this endeavor, in her, and his praise left her feeling good. Well, better than she had been this morning, at least. 

“Thank you, I’m so glad you think so. We’ve been doing really well so far-”

“Can I see the books? If you don’t mind, of course, my dear, this is your business after all.” 

Alayne hesitated. But how could she refuse? Surely he just wanted to see how quickly he would get a return on his investment.. But why couldn’t he just ask her? She plastered on a smile. 

“Of course.” She got the book from behind the counter, handing it over without showing any of her reluctance, but her skin was crawling as her uncle flipped through the pages. 

“My, you are doing well. I’m very proud of you.” 

“Thank you,” Alayne replied, expecting him to put the book away, but he continued to examine it, making her set her teeth in frustration. She did love her uncle, but sometimes he could be… overbearing. 

“Could I ask you something, uncle?” She said, partly to distract him, and partly because she feared she would lose her nerve to ask if she waited too long.

“Of course, anything.” He said absentmindedly, still flipping the pages. 

“Did I ever know someone named Sandor? Before the accident? Sandor Clegane?” 

That got his attention. Petyr looked up sharply, eyes boring into hers, before suddenly relaxing his face in a way that looked too practiced. 

“Not that I know of. Why do you ask?” He was clearly trying to remain causal, but Alayne could see the tension in him. He knew something. 

“Oh, just a silly dream I had. I’m sure its nothing,” she replied airly, testing the waters. 

“What sort of dream?” He asked. 

“Oh, I don’t remember any details. Just the name, something about a scar.” Alayne responded, leaving a few details thrown in, and she saw his shoulders tense. 

“Maybe you read the name somewhere.” He said, eyes flickering past her shoulders. 

“Of course, that must be it.” Alayne busied herself rearranging a bouquet, conscious of her uncle watching her as she did so. 

“I’m sure its nothing, my dear, but if you have a dream like that again, you’ll tell me, won’t you? I just want to be sure everything is alright, with your… delicate memory. You know how it can confuse you sometimes.” 

Inwardly, Alayne bristled. One thing she didn’t like was being treated as though she was delicate, or worse, stupid. Petyr said those kinds of things to her every once in a while, but she always overlooked it. Now, it felt almost gross. Infantilizing. 

Outwardly, she smiled, playing the part of the grateful niece. “I will, Uncle. Thank you for looking out for me.” 

Petyr smiled back, a wormy smirk, and Alayne felt her spine tingle. He snapped the book shut, picked up his briefcase, and held open his arms. 

“I should be going. I’ll be back to see you in a few days, my dear.”

Alayne stepped into his embrace, his hands wandering a bit too low for her comfort. But still she smiled. 

As he disappeared around the corner, likely stepping into a luxury car somewhere, Alayne found her eyes drawn to the bookshop. She did know Sandor. She could feel it, and Petyr’s reaction only confirmed it. If he wouldn’t give her answers, maybe Sandor could. Assuming she could work up the courage to ask after the fiasco of last night. 

****   
Sandor and Brienne were waiting in his shop when they heard a car come skidding to a stop in front. Brienne jumped to her feet, opening the door, and Sandor could hear voices outside. 

“Where is she?” A shrill voice was demanding. 

“Get inside, you idiot,” Brienne hissed, ushering the two figures in. 

As soon as Sandor had confirmed Brienne’s suspicions about Alayne, she had called in “backup”, as she had said, in the form of Sansa’s sister and cousin, both of whom lived in the city. Brienne hadn’t wanted to involve Catlyn until they were absolutely sure it was her; she said the poor woman had had her heart broken one too many times. 

The shrill voice belonged to Arya Stark, a short but very imposing woman with mid length dark hair and furious eyes, who burst into the shop as though she was about to tear it down. 

“You. Where the fuck is my sister?” Arya demanded, pointing a finger at him. Despite being at least twice her height, Sandor was intimidated by the younger Stark sister. Before he could answer, Jon Snow rushed in after his cousin, swatting her on the shoulder. He was a somber looking young man, with black hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck, and worry etched over his face. 

“Calm down, Arya,” he said, looking at Sandor. “I’m sorry about her. We’re very grateful for your help.” 

“He hasn’t been helpful yet,” Arya muttered. 

“He’s the one who found your sister, for your information.” Brienne helpfully left out the part where Sandor refused to think Alayne was Sansa in the first place, which he was grateful for. He thought Arya might disembowel him if she found out that detail. He might deserve it. 

Jon sat down across the table from Sandor, while Arya opted to pace behind him. 

“Brienne said you knew Sansa when she was at the Lannisters?” He asked. 

“Aye,” Sandor responded. “I worked personal security for Cersei’s cunt of a son. Sansa was there for a while before I resigned.” 

Brienne looked at him oddly, knowing he was leaving out large chunks of that story. “She’s going by Alayne Stone. We think…” she hesitated. “We think she may have some memory loss.” 

Arya let out a noise that sounded near a growl, but Jon held out his hand before she could continue. 

“Why do you think that?” 

Sandor sighed. “Sansa and I were… friends, I guess, at the Lannisters. She doesn't recognize me. Or if she does, she’s doing a hell of a job pretending she doesn’t.”

“If she does have memory loss, we need to be careful with this. If we just jump in, chances are she’ll think we’re crazy, and we’ll never get anywhere.”

“So what’s the first step?” Arya demanded. 

“One of you needs to confirm that it’s her. Sandor and I are very sure, but we don’t want to proceed unless we are 100%. That’s why I called you two, and not your mother.” Brienne replied. 

“Good call,” Arya nodded. “I’ll ask, for the third time, where is she?” 

All eyes turned to Sandor.

“She owns the flower shop across the street. She should be there, and I think Baelish is gone now.” 

Jon clenched his jaw. “Petyr Baelish?” 

Sandor nodded. “You know him?” 

“You could say that,” Jon muttered. “He’s a… friend, of my aunt, but it’s clear he just wanted in her pants. He stopped calling around the time Sansa disappeared.”

Arya stopped her pacing.

“Fuck, Jon, you think-” 

“I don’t know. But what are the odds that’s a coincidence?” Jon asked. 

Arya’s face tightened. “Well, let’s get this thing started.”

Brienne went out first, to check the coast was clear, and Arya and Jon walked outside. 

Alayne was standing at the register, ringing up a couple, a smile on her face. Luckily she was occupied, because the moment Arya saw her, she started running towards the shop. Before she got more than a few steps, Jon grabbed her, hauling her back inside the bookshop. 

“Put me down!” She yelled. “That was her!” 

“I know! I know, Arya,” Jon said, his voice softening as he pulled his cousin towards him, embracing her as her struggles stopped. They both had tears in their eyes. “We found her. We’ll get her back. We just have to be careful.” 

Brienne and Sandor, both uncomfortable intruding on such a private scene, moved away. Sandor leaned on a shelf, closing his eyes, till he felt Brienne’s hand on his arm. 

“You and Sansa… it was more than friendship, wasn’t it?” she asked softly. 

He opened his eyes slowly, not wanting to see the pity in his friend’s eyes. Surprisingly, he found none there. 

“Aye. At least for me. We never….” he trailed off, unable to put into words what the relationship he had with Sansa was or what it had meant to him. “How’d you know?” 

Brienne smiled sadly. “Because when you talk about her, or when you said she didn’t remember you, you looked the way I would feel if I was in your shoes. If Jaime didn’t remember me.”

She paused. 

“You’re doing a good thing, Clegane. This family has been torn apart for a long time.”

He nodded. He knew it was the right thing. But with this, selfishly, he knew he was losing not only Sansa again, but Alayne as well. She would never want to see him again if she remembered who he was. 

He had failed his little bird once before. He would not be the one to stand in the way of her reuniting with her family, whatever the cost to himself.  
****  
“Hello! Could I get your advice on something?” A sing-song voice called out from the front of the shop. Alayne turned to see a striking figure in the doorway, a lovely woman with long, curled brown hair, in a flowing skirt and crop top. 

“Of course, what can I do for you?” she asked, making her way over. 

“Well, I was hoping to get your opinion on possible flowers for… well, for my wedding,” the woman said with a delicate blush. “Is that something that you do here?” 

Alayne nodded. “Yes, of course! Congratulations on the wedding,” she said warmly. 

Weddings, of course, at the moment, were only making Alayne think of Sandor, and her own very possibly broken heart, but of course this beautiful woman was getting married. 

“Thank you! I’m trying to get a general outline before my grandmother steps in,” she said conspiratorially. “The woman is far too invested in the details of my wedding, but I love her.” 

Alayne smiled. The woman had a very charming nature about her, that set Alayne’s nerves at ease, which was sorely needed after such a trying day. 

“Family can be difficult to manage,” she said with a laugh. “My name is Alayne, what’s yours?” 

“Margaery,” the brunette replied. “Margaery Tyrell."

About an hour later, the flowers for the wedding bouquet were formalized, and Margaery was thrilled. 

“You’ve been such a dear, thank you so much for all of your help,” she gushed, taking Alayne’s hand in her own. 

“Of course, it’s my pleasure. I love designing for weddings,” Alayne confessed. 

“Let me send a picture to my grandmother, I know she’ll love it.” As Margaery pulled out her phone, Alayne caught sight of her lockscreen, a picture of herself and a man with golden hair. 

“Is that the lucky groom?” She asked. 

“Oh! Yes, this is my fiance,” Margaery said, pulling the photo up. “His name is Joffrey.”

Alayne was frozen. The face in the picture was so familiar, and a primal terror was coiling in her stomach, and her throat was closing. 

“He’s very handsome.” she managed to choke out. Luckily Margaery was too involved in the picture and looking at the flowers to notice the change in Alayne’s demeanor. Alayne managed to finish the transaction and get the other woman out of the door, before she leaned against the counter behind the register, breath coming in short pants, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. 

She knew that face, but she had only seen it in those dreams she had, each time accompanied with pain or fear. She reached a hand behind her head, touching the scar that lay beneath her hair. Maybe she was going insane. How could the man from her dreams be real?

But Sandor was real. Sandor had been in her dreams. 

The thought of the man made her look across the street towards his shop. There were two people coming out of it, one dark head ducking into a car. The other figure was a short woman with dark hair as well. As the woman turned her head, Alayne’s blood turned to ice, and her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. 

She knew her. She knew her. She was family. She was her sister. She was-

Arya. Arya. ARYA! 

“ARYA!” Her voice came out of her unwilled, and her feet carried her towards the door without her consent. 

“ARYA!” She called again, her voice ripping out of her with a desperation she had never felt before. She could see two other figures coming out of the bookshop, Sandor and a very tall blonde woman. Sandor started towards her, but she only had eyes for the woman turning towards her from the car. 

Her sister looked around eyes wide, mouth open, and then she was running. 

“SANSA!” 

The sisters collided into one another, openly sobbing, and she saw another man coming towards them, with dark hair-

“Jon!” she called, reaching out towards him as he came closer. 

“Sansa,” he said in a choked voice, then she and Arya were wrapped in his arms, and she was finally home, she was with her family. 

She raised her eyes towards Sandor, finally seeing him as herself, seeing their history as it flooded through her head, and she knew that he knew her. 

She was not Alayne Stone.

She was Sansa Stark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the next chapter! This one was a tough one to write, I wasn't sure how I wanted Sansa to remember who she was, but I thought that seeing her family would be the final breakthrough in her memory loss, because I love me some Stark family feels. Next chapter will have some more revelations and some more Sansan. I hope you guys enjoyed, and as always, thanks for reading!


	7. Moving Forward

“Sandor.” 

He started awake, feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sansa was looking down at him, hair pulled back into a ponytail, exhaustion clearly written on her face. They were back at her apartment, he and Brienne and Arya and Jon. They had been there for hours, waiting for Catelyn Stark, though her flight wouldn't be arriving until the morning. Judging by the light, it was well into the night. 

“Sansa,” he said, tasting her name on his tongue. The two hadn’t had a chance to talk yet. After the initial flurry, Brienne had called Sansa’s mother, and they had cried together over the phone before Catelyn booked the next flight out. Sansa had managed to wrestle her way out of her sister’s grasp for an instant, embracing Sandor tightly with a whispered “thank you” in his ear, but since that moment Arya hadn’t left her sister’s side, hovering over her with an intense guard. 

“I’m sorry to wake you. Arya finally fell asleep.” Sansa whispered. 

Sandor nodded, looking at her apprehensively. After the last time they had parted, both as Sansa and as Alayne, he wasn’t sure of the reception he might get. 

Sansa sat beside him on the couch, close enough to make his skin tingle. She pulled her legs in close to herself, hugging her knees, stealing a sideways glance at him. 

“I don’t remember everything yet.” She said, almost apologetically. “Mom’s going to take me to a specialist when she gets here tomorrow.”

“What do you remember?” Sandor asked. 

“Joffrey. Cersei. Meryn. Petyr.” Sansa shivered at the last name. “You.”

“All of it?” He blurted out. Sansa turned, looking him straight in the eyes with a familiarity he hadn’t seen from her in some time. 

“I should have gone with you,” was all she said. Sandor swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

“I shouldn’t have left without you. I should have stayed.” he whispered. Sansa shook her head. She reached out and placed her hand on his, and a shock ran through him at the contact. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Maybe I could have stopped it. If I’d stayed.” 

Sansa shook her head again. “I don’t think so. Not without getting yourself killed.”

She ran a hand lightly over the back of her head, tracing something underneath her hair. 

“Do you-”

“Some of it,” Sansa said, expecting the question. “It was Meryn. Joffrey told him to, but it was Meryn. I think I just said something he didn’t like. I don’t remember all of it, but I think things... got out of hand. I woke up in the hospital afterwards. I couldn’t even remember my name. Petyr was there, he told me I was in a car crash. Got a head wound. He was telling the truth about the head wound, but not about the car crash.” 

Sandor’s jaw tightened. “I’ll kill that cunt.”

Sansa laughed lightly. “Which one?” 

“All of them.” 

“I think you’ll have to fight Arya for that,” Sansa said with a sad smile. “I’m going to press charges, I think. Against Joffrey and Petyr. Would you testify, if I do?” 

“Of course, little bird.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Sansa spoke again. 

“You called me that once. Little bird. After the date.” Her voice was quiet, restrained. She wasn’t looking at him. Sandor hung his head. 

“I did.” 

“You recognized me. When I was Alayne.” She said it as a statement of fact, rather than a question, and Sandor felt a rush of guilt reignite in his gut. 

“Aye,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” Sansa asked. 

“I-” Sandor began, voice breaking off. “I couldn’t.” 

Sansa’s smile was tight. “You recognized me, you went on a date with me, and you just weren’t going to say anything. All right.” 

She stood up to leave, and almost of its own accord, Sandor’s hand reached out and gripped her wrist. She turned, blue eyes bright with unshed tears, jaw set. 

“You were presumed dead, little bird. It was like seeing a ghost. And you didn’t know me. I thought I was crazy. But you’ve every right to your anger. What I did was wrong.” 

Sansa let out a sigh, and slowly nodded her head. 

“You have changed,” she said wryly. “The Sandor Clegane I remember would never admit he was in the wrong.” 

“Sansa?” Arya’s voice called out from the bedroom. 

Sansa squeezed Sandor’s hand gently. 

“Thank you for bringing me back to my family.” She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, lips lingering just a moment longer than needed, and slid her hand out of his grasp, walking back to her room. Sandor was left clutching at air. 

****  
A week later, Sandor was back working at the book shop. He had left it unattended for far too long, as every waking moment was absorbed with Sansa and her family. Catelyn Stark was an imposing woman, as he found out when he was subjected to a barrage of questioning the moment she stepped off of the plane. The week was a blur of doctor’s appointments and meetings with detectives. Petyr Baelish was on the run, wanting for Sansa’s kidnapping. Sansa’s memory was coming back, piece by piece, and the doctor said she should recover all of them, given enough time. Neuroscience wasn’t Sandor’s area of expertise, but the doctor’s said that the memory loss was a combination of the physical injury and the mental manipulation of Petyr. The Starks were starting to work on their case against Joffrey. 

While they had been in King’s Landing, Brienne had dragged Sandor along with them to all of these, although he couldn’t begin to guess at her motivations. But now they were all back in Winterfell, and Sandor was left to himself once more. 

Sansa had asked him to come with them. Looked at him with those pleading eyes. And being the stupid man he was, he had frozen, and stuttered out some excuse about having to run the shop, but to let him know when he needed to testify. Sansa had just looked at him and nodded, and the next thing he knew he was watching her walk onto the plane. 

He found himself looking over at the flower shop more often than he should have. Sansa had said she didn't want to keep it. It was Alayne’s work, not her own. The storefront would be sold soon enough, but until then, the sign proclaiming Eyrie Flowers sent a pang through his being every time he saw it. 

Brienne was keeping him updated on the case. Sandor knew he would be called to testify, and Sansa’s family would see him for what he was, would know what he allowed the Lannisters to do to Sansa, and he would never see her again. So he buried himself in his work, trying desperately to find his routine, the routine that had kept him happy for years, or so he had thought. Now he knew he was coping, not happy. Without Sansa, he wasn’t sure he could be happy. But he could try to have some semblance of it. 

****  
When Sansa went back to Winterfell, she expected to feel a sense of homecoming. She did, to some extent. Winterfell was her home, and being surrounded by her family again felt better than she could have imagined, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. 

She cried when she saw her family. When her mother stepped off of the plane, she had thought she might faint. She didn’t know it was possible to miss a person so much, especially a person she couldn’t remember until the day before. When she saw Robb, she bawled like a baby, and so did he, although he tried to hide it. Bran was grown up, he looked like a man, and Rickon was wild as ever. 

She had barely been left alone since Arya and Jon had found her. The Starks were a large and loyal family, and Sansa was a Stark to her bones, but it was overwhelming. So when she found herself alone in her childhood bedroom, she collapsed on the bed, closing her eyes and breathing deep. 

When she opened them, she found the room just as she had left it last. She remembered that. Not all of her memories were back, although more and more were being brought up each day, but she remembered leaving this room for the last time when she moved to the Baratheon mansion. She had been so excited. So excited, her shiny new engagement ring on her finger, ready to start a new chapter in her life. 

And her father had been there then. He hadn’t wanted her to leave. Sansa felt a lump swell in her throat. Her father had died in a freak accident a year after she had disappeared. Arya had taken her to his grave when they had come home. 

She hugged a pillow close to herself, and she cried until she couldn’t cry any more. When she heard a knock at her door, she assumed it was Arya, but it was Jon that stepped in instead. 

“You ok?” he asked. Sansa smiled half heartedly, and shrugged. Jon sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. 

“I miss him.” Sansa admitted. “Dad.” 

Jon nodded. “I miss him too. We all do. He never stopped hoping you’d come home.” 

“Home’s not the same without him.” 

The cousins sat in a comforting silence. 

“It’s not just that though,” Sansa said. “It’s all of it. None of it feels like I thought it would.”

Jon looked at her sympathetically. “I know.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “You do?” 

“I joined the army. After you left to go to the Lannisters.” Jon said. “I lasted two years, got hurt, and they sent me home. And being home was weird as all hell. I was a different person when I came back. I think you’re a different person than when you left. So things might not feel the same.” 

“How did you get hurt?” Sansa asked. 

“I got shot. Not enough to kill me, but enough to get me honorably discharged. Still got the scar.” 

“I’m sorry that happened.” Sansa said, unconsciously tracing her own scar underneath her hair. 

Jon shrugged. “I was one of the lucky ones.” 

He stood up. “Aunt Cat says dinner will be ready in 20, if you’re hungry.” 

Sansa nodded. “I’ll be down in a bit.” 

Once Jon had gone, Sansa laid down again, staring at the ceiling. She was a different person now, there was no denying that. But it felt like more than that. It felt like something very specific was missing. 

A sad smile twisted on her face. Something… or someone. Her memories of Sandor had been coming back very rapidly. She had thought that her feelings for him were a byproduct of Alayne, but those feelings had been there since the Lannisters. The heartache that she felt now felt eerily close to the heartache she had felt when Sandor had left. 

She missed him. She missed him desperately. His blunt manner, his dry humor, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, all of it. She was head over heels for the man, but after everything she had put him through, there was no chance he felt the same. Otherwise he would have come to Winterfell with her. It was a miracle he was even considering testifying in the trial. After that, she doubted he would want anything to do with her, the broken, damaged mess that she was. 

***  
Two weeks after the Starks had left, Sandor was woken up at 4 am by the buzzing of his phone. Expecting to see Brienne’s number, he picked it up, squinting at the light, only to see an unsaved number. 

They found Petyr. Can you come to Winterfell? The trial has been moved up. The lawyers will send you something about testifying. The earliest you would testify would be in a week. 

His phone buzzed again as another message came in. 

If you can’t come before that, I understand. I know you’re busy with the shop. If you can, I can get you a flight. I’d feel better if I had you here. -Sansa

Sandor stared at the screen in shock. This was the first contact Sansa had with him since she had left. All of his other updates had been through Brienne. Hands shaking, he typed out a response. 

I can come whenever you need me. Just tell me when, little bird. 

Her response came almost immediately. 

The trial starts the day after tomorrow. If that’s too early, I understand. 

Sandor let out a slow breath. 

I’ll be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Finally got this chapter done! This one is a bit more of a transition chapter, I've been busy with exams the past week and will be this coming week, but I wanted to put this one out. I hope you guys enjoy it, thank you for the comments on the last chapter! I'll be trying to respond to some when I have the chance this week, but even if I don't respond they always make me happy and they keep me writing! 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this story, I really appreciate all of you!


	8. Winterfell

Winterfell was fucking cold. 

Sandor knew that, of course, Winterfell was about as a far north as you could get before you hit the Wall, the tiny town that to most signified the end of Westerosi borders. But Sandor was southern born and southern raised, had never traveled very far north, and thus was highly subject to the cold. It hit him as soon as he stepped off of his plane, and he found himself wishing he had worn a warmer coat. 

After collecting his luggage, he was about to hail a taxi, when a battered looking black car pulled up next to him. The window rolled down, and Arya stuck her head out. 

“Get in.” She said shortly, motioning him inside with her hand. Apprehensively, Sandor clambered inside, tossing his bag in the backseat. 

“This is your car? Didn’t expect a Stark to be caught dead in something like this.” He muttered. 

Arya looked like she might laugh, but it came out as a grimace. 

“My family’s rich, I’m not. Mom’s tried to buy me a new car a thousand times, but I’ve been with this one for ages, and she’s still running.” She tapped the dash fondly. “Sansa asked me to pick you up. I didn’t come willingly. So be nice to me or I’ll make you walk.” 

“Walking might be a better deal.” 

Arya smirked and revved the engine, pulling away from the curb at a speed that was likely a bit unsafe for an airport. 

With the rest of Sansa’s family, Sandor tried to watch what he said, but his blunt and sniping nature seemed to be similar to Arya’s own personality. The two had bickered all throughout the time Arya was in King’s Landing, and it didn’t look like Winterfell would be much different. 

“Sansa would have come with, but Mom’s basically got her under house arrest for a while. At least until the trial is over. So get ready for some crazy when we get there,” Arya said out of the blue. 

Sandor wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad to hear that there was a reason Sansa hadn’t met him at the airport- at least, besides the obvious one. 

“I’m just here to testify, you know that.” Sandor responded. “What Sansa does or doesn’t do is up to her. Doubt I’ll be much involved.”

Arya snorted. 

“Yeah, here to testify a whole week early. Sure.” 

“She asked me to come!” Sandor snapped, embarrassment rankling his blood. 

“Chill, dude, I know she did.” Arya glanced at him from the driver’s seat, her dark eyes squinted and unreadable. “Can’t say I get why, though. Or that I understand this.” 

“What’s to understand?” Sandor challenged. 

“This. The weird thing you two have. I don’t get it. But whatever. If you can help with the case its good you came.” She waved a hand dismissively.

“There’s no ‘thing,’” Sandor muttered under his breath. That one did make Arya laugh. 

“Right. My bad.”

Sandor would have kept arguing, but the younger Stark girl had a knowing grin that he didn’t like one bit. 

***  
“Home sweet home.” 

The car pulled into the road leading up to the Stark mansion, and gods, Sandor already knew they were rich, but the size and spectacle of the place still hit him like a punch to the gut. The mansion itself was grey and sprawling, built like a castle, and the grounds surrounding it were dusted with snow, picture perfect trees littering the grass. The place glimmered in the twilight. It looked like the grounds stretched for miles. 

Sandor’s stomach sank. He had always known that he and Sansa came from … different walks of life, but he had never seen just how far that gap reached. 

Arya parked the car and jumped out to greet what looked like a wolf running full speed towards her.

“Where in the seven hells am I?” Sandor grumbled, clambering out of his seat. He was reaching into the back to grab his bags when he heard the door open. 

He turned, and no matter how many times he prepared himself to see her, he didn’t think he would ever be used to being struck with the vision of Sansa. She stood at the top of the stairs, a tired smile on her face, in leggings and an oversized hoodie. Her hair was still dark, which was a surprise, but he could see some glints of red starting to show through. She held up a slender hand in greeting, and Sandor clumsily lifted his in response.

He hefted his bag and walked up, silently praying he wouldn’t slip on some ice. 

“Thanks for coming,” Sansa said as he reached her. Before he could reply, she slipped her arms around him in a quick, light embrace leaving him with just a hint of the smell of her shampoo, and Sandor wanted more. 

“Course I came, don’t be stupid,” he grunted, finally appreciating the cold for keeping the flush out of his cheeks, or at least giving him an excuse for it. Although, now that he looked, Sansa’s face seemed a bit flushed as well. 

“Well, I appreciate it. Come on in. Was your flight ok?” she asked, beckoning him inside. Sandor felt a rush of nerves, and fought the urge to shake his hair in front of his face. 

Most of Sansa’s family had met him, but there were still some he hadn’t, and he knew their first impression would be the scars. Especially since one was an older brother, of course he would see him as a scary, scarred monster lusting after his little sister. 

“The flight was fine. It’s damned cold here.” He responded, trying to shove those thoughts to the side as he scanned the room. Luckily there was no one in the entranceway. 

Sansa laughed, a bell like chime that struck a particular chord in Sandor’s chest. “Well, it is the north. I hope you packed something warmer than that tiny coat,” she said critically, eyes running over his body. 

“Aye, I’m not a complete fool,” he answered, trying to avoid her gaze. Try as he might, his nerves were getting the better of him, and he wanted nothing more than to turn tail and run. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Arya chimed in from behind him. 

“Arya!” Sansa chided. “Be nice. Sandor’s doing me, all of us, a huge favor.” 

Sansa looked at him reassuringly, red lips curved into a small smile. “Which I was sure to remind my brothers of. They want to meet you.” 

Her body language turned unsure, twisting a finger in her hair. “They might be a little…”

Sandor waved a hand. “Don’t worry, little bird, I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse.” And it isn’t entirely undeserved, he thought to himself. 

Arya grinned in her typical wolf like manner. “I’ll tell them you’re here.” 

She scurried off, and Sansa let out a sigh. “We should probably follow her.” 

Before she could walk off, Sandor’s hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, to gently grab her shoulder. She looked up at him quizzically, blue eyes still bright despite the dark circles underneath them. 

“How, er, how are you holding up?” Sandor asked quietly. 

Sansa’s expression turned from questioning to surprised, then melted into a more serious, vulnerable one, lips twitching like she was holding back a grimace. 

“As well as can be expected, I guess. The trial prep is…. Stressful. But I’m glad to be home.” she replied in an equally quiet voice, swallowing hard. She glanced back up at him. 

“I’m really happy you’re here, Sandor.” Her hand came up to rest on his momentarily, fingers squeezing his, before releasing and walking after Arya.   
*****

Sansa’s family was large and loud. Catlyn greeted him in her usual reserved manner. Jon clapped him on the back with a sincere look, the boy was too nice for his own good. Arya stood grinning close by while Sansa’s older brother, Robb, gripped Sandor’s hand too firmly, looking at him with albeit less suspicion than Sandor had expected. Bran, Sansa’s younger brother, shook his hand from his wheelchair, and looked at him with annoyingly perceptive eyes that made his skin crawl. Rickon, the youngest, was in the room one moment and out the next, despite Catlyn’s calls after him. 

Shockingly, Sandor’s presence didn’t seem to add an air of discomfort to the dynamic. After the initial introductions, the Starks all sat around, eating snacks and sniping at one another good naturedly. Sandor only had to answer a few questions, and was mostly allowed to observe, although he was drawn into a conversation with Jon and Bran about Brienne’s books. Brienne was already in Winterfell, but she was staying elsewhere. From the way Catlyn’s mouth pursed when they said that, Sandor thought Jaime must be with her. He didn’t imagine Catlyn would be welcoming any Lannister under her roof anytime soon. 

Mostly, he watched Sansa. 

He had never known Sansa as she was at home, as she was with the people she was the most comfortable with. He had only known her as a captive, both times, first as a captive of the Lannisters and then as the unknowing captive of Petyr Baelish, always in danger, always on edge. He had fallen in love with that Sansa, but the more he watched her, the more he fell for this Sansa. Over their time together, he had become very attuned to Sansa’s emotions, to her body language, in his attempts to keep her safe. He had never seen her like this. She laughed and smiled with an ease he had never seen from her. She was tense, of course, the trial was the next day, but she sat and moved with a grace born of comfort and security. The dark circles under her eyes told him she wasn’t sleeping, but the way her eyes shone and the animation in her voice showed him she was getting better. Slowly but surely. And the thought both warmed and broke his heart. 

There was no place for him with her now. She didn’t need his protection, he couldn’t offer her any security that her family couldn’t offer ten times over. All he could offer her were scars, and pain, and… himself. How could that be enough?

At least she was happy. At least she was safe. 

****  
Later that night, Sandor tossed and turned in the guest bedroom before finally getting up with a groan. He quietly opened his door, mostly out of habit- the Stark mansion was so huge it was unlikely anyone would be around to hear anything he did. He rubbed a hand over his face as he stalked into the kitchen, nearly colliding with an unexpected presence. 

“Sorry!” Sansa stage whispered. “I didn't’ think anyone else was awake.”

“No, that was my fault.” Sandor sighed, leaning up against the counter. He took a moment to look her over, her hair back in a braid, in an oversized tee shirt and sweatpants. Even in the dark, he could make out her face enough to see a tremor in her chin, and he frowned. 

“What are you doing up, little bird?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said, but her response had no bite to it. Sandor raised an eyebrow. 

“I was getting water. Your turn.” 

Sansa’s stance shifted, her hands coming up to hug her elbows, shrinking in on herself as she avoided Sandor’s eyes. She stayed silent. 

He crossed his arms and stayed silent as well. He could play at that game for hours. But the longer she stayed quiet, the more he second guessed himself. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him, or maybe the way he used to act when she was upset when they were at the Lannisters was upsetting for her in itself. 

Before he could speak, Sansa sighed, and her stance relaxed some. 

“That’s what you used to do, isn’t it? Back at the mansion. I remember you in the kitchen looking exactly like that when I wouldn’t tell you something.” 

“You remember that?” 

She nodded, a half smile forming on her face. “I remember new things every day. That was a new one.” She paused. “A good one. You always knew how to get me to start talking.” 

Sandor shrugged. “Wasn’t exactly difficult.” 

“Little bird likes to chirp.” Sansa’s tone was humorous, but her face was sad. 

Sandor inched closer to her, unsure if his proximity was wanted or not.

“Chirp to me now, then. Sing me a song.” His voice sounded hoarse even to himself.

Sansa opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, and abruptly flung herself at Sandor, a choked sob coming from deep in her chest. 

Without a second thought, Sandor put his arms around her, pulling her close to him, one hand resting on her lower back and the other tangled in her hair. Sansa clung to him like a lifeline, hands gripping the front of his shirt, but her cries were quiet, restrained, even as he could feel her tears wetting his chest. He held her tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, allowing them both the comfort they needed from the other. 

“I’ve got you, Sansa. You’re all right,” he murmured into her ear. 

He didn’t know how long they stood there, back braced against the counter, but long enough for the granite to form lines in his back, and long enough for Sansa’s sobs to dry out. He expected her to pull away, but she stayed where she was, chest heaving as she struggled to regain herself. 

“They’ll be there. Tomorrow. I’ll have to see them.” she whispered, and the fear in her voice made a rage bubble in Sandor’s stomach, and his arms tightened around her. 

“They won’t get to you. Never again.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

Sandor pulled his head back, and reached towards her, tilting her face upwards to look at him. Her eyes were red and puffy, face tearstained, and he knew again as he knew back in the mansion that he would die before anyone touched her again. 

“I’ll be there. The whole time. As long as you want me. I swear.” 

As Sansa looked up at him he became aware of just how close their faces were. He would only have to lean in an inch or two before- no. He couldn’t let himself think like that. But her closeness was intoxicating. 

“I won’t leave you. Not again.” He murmured, and Sansa’s eyes fluttered closed, and her breath ghosted over his lips as she whispered a thank you. 

Two more seconds and Sandor wouldn’t have been able to control himself any longer, not with her lips that close to his own, but Sansa pulled back at the last moment, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She backed up just far enough that his hands stayed around her waist, and her other hand on his chest, and looked him in the eye with an expression he had never seen from her before. 

“Good night, Sandor. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
****  
The next morning found Sandor, dressed in the best clothes he owned, sitting next to Brienne and the Stark family in the courtroom. Sansa sat up front with the lawyers, and with Catlyn, who, apparently, was a lawyer for a time, and had bullied her way into being allowed to sit with her daughter. 

Sandor hadn’t seen much of Sansa that morning, with the hectic nature of the Stark family combined with the stress of the trial, and he couldn’t stop his gaze from going to her. Her back was straight as a rod, her hair in a bun, wearing a pencil skirt and navy blue blouse that made the red shining through in her hair more evident. From what he could see of her face, she looked pale as a ghost. 

Brienne noticed his distraction, and shot him a look to calm down. 

That idea went out the window when the door opened and the defense walked into the courtroom. Sandor’s hands fisted, aching to slam into the bodies of each and every one of them until he felt their bones crack. 

Cersei Lannister swept in with her son, the arrogant prick looking every bit the golden boy he was supposed to be. Sandor, of course, could see the malice behind his eyes. Behind them, Petyr Baelish, wearing a very expensive suit, walked in. 

Sandor tore his eyes from the trio to check on Sansa. She was gripping the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles were white. He saw her staring at them as they walked in. Cersei and Joffrey didn’t spare her a glance, but Baelish gave her a slow smile as he walked by, and Sandor could see the tremors in Sansa’s shoulders. 

She looked back towards him, and their eyes met. He nodded at her, and he could see her hands relax, her breathing deepen, and some color return to her face. Her features settled into a blank mask, but Sandor knew Sansa’s eyes, and they were blazing with rage. She swiveled around, a strong set to her shoulders, ready to take on the challenge ahead. 

“All rise.” 

And with that, the trial began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I've been so caught up with work and academics this past week or so its been hard to find time to write. Especially after that newest episode. Once I'm done with this fic I might have to start doing some fix-its to cope with this newest season. But here it is, and I hope you all enjoy! It was a lot of fun to write, I love the Stark family and I've been wanting to write some more romantic Sansa and Sandor scenes, so I'm glad I'm finally moving into that part of the story. As always, comments mean the world to me, even if I don't have the chance to respond to them! Thank you all so much for reading this little story!


	9. The Trial, Part I

Sansa knew how she looked. She had always been pale, but ever since she had woken up that morning she had been beyond pale, an ashy, ghost-like color, only emphasized by the cold dark color of her hair. She had lost weight, her cheekbones prominent, and she looked tired. She could only hope that her appearance would be a benefit to the jury. 

They had a good one, her lawyer told her- very sympathetic. Still, she worried. Joffrey was a Lannister, a titan of a family, and if anyone could get out of a charge like this, it would be the golden boy of Kings Landing. And Petyr was a smooth talker, very good at getting his way and weaseling out of things. 

When they walked in, her hands gripped the table, fingernails cutting into the wood. She did her best to control her face, to control her body, to stop it from shaking, and just barely succeeded. Her mother reached over and put a hand on top of hers, but Sansa barely felt it. Joffrey and Cersei walked by without a glance. Petyr, on the other hand, smiled at her, and Sansa could feel a pit in her stomach. Her hands shook. 

As her memory had come back, and as she learned over again who she was, there were certain things about Petyr that made her skin crawl. The lingering stares he gave her, the touches, the hand on her lower back whenever they would walk somewhere, the whispers in her ear, even back at the mansion. 

He had been in love with her mother, she knew- and Sansa had been told time and time again just how much she looked like her mother.

She glanced behind her, towards where her family sat. As she turned she saw a familiar face sitting behind Joffrey’s bench. Margaery, Joffrey’s fiancee, from the flower shop. The two made eye contact, and Margeary’s impeccable composure dropped, only for a second, as she recognized her. 

Arya was sitting there, with her brothers, and Brienne and Sandor sat behind her as well. One thing that Sansa was not short on was support. Even Rickon had dressed up for the occasion, though he was fidgeting in his seat. She let her eyes travel over them all, letting their presence comfort her. She saved Sandor for last. 

He looked good- although she always thought he looked good. His shirt was a dark charcoal color, and his hair was pulled back. His eyes were following Joffrey and Petyr with a rage that she hadn’t seen from him in some time, not since the Lannisters. 

His eyes flashed to her, and he gave her a reassuring nod. She felt a sense of calm overtake her, and her hands stopped shaking. No matter what, she had someone there who knew beyond any doubt that she was telling the truth, because he had seen it for himself. 

And with that, she allowed herself to be angry. Angry at Joffrey for the cruelty he imposed on her, the ridicule he made her face, her imprisonment. Angry at Petyr for his lies, his manipulation, how he kept her from her family for some twisted perversion of his own. 

“All rise.” 

Sansa stood, without any weakness or frailty. They were going to win. 

***

The opening statements went by in a flash. Sansa had her lawyers statement memorized by heart at this point, they had gone over everything so many times. The defense had been nearly laughable- Joffrey and Cersei claimed that she was a scorned and bitter ex fiancee, who saw that Joffrey was engaged again and wanted revenge on him. Petyr, on the other hand, said that he was only doing his duty as Sansa’s godfather, and that a doctor at the hospital had advised him not to make her remember, after the car crash, which he was still claiming happened. 

Tomorrow would be the first of two times Sansa would have to testify. Once against the Lannisters for abuse, and once against Petyr. Tomorrow she would testify against Joffrey. 

Alone in her room, Sansa could feel chills running up and down her body, and those chills weren't from the cold. She hugged her arms close to her body, her fingers lightly tracing over some of the scarring on her upper arm. Tomorrow they would be presenting her scars as evidence along with her testimony. Pictures, of course- they had taken them before the trial began, to submit into evidence. Taking the pictures had already been hard enough, even when it was only her mother seeing them. As she had stripped away her clothing, pointing out each area of scarring, the lines in her mother’s face seemed to be chiseled into her like stone. 

And tomorrow, everyone would see them. Her whole family, her brothers, Arya, Brienne… and Sandor. 

****  
Today, Sansa was dressed in a dark grey skirt, tights, and a white blouse. Her hair was up in a bun, high on her head. It bounced as she made her way to the stand, shifted as she swore on the Seven to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and her head felt off balance as she sat. 

She and her lawyer and her mother had gone over the questions time and time again. She could answer them without even thinking, but as she looked out at the jury, saw Joffrey’s face and met his eyes for the first time in years, her mouth was dry as a bone, and her tongue felt dead and useless in her mouth. 

“When did you first meet Joffrey Baratheon?” 

Sansa swallowed hard, her eyes flitting around the courtroom, her hands clasped tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking. The dam was dangerously close to bursting, and at the worst possible time. 

Finally, her eyes came to rest on Sandor. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, surely noting the oddity of her movements and behavior, and his eyes were trained on hers. He gave her a sad, half smile, and the knot in her chest loosened some. She looked at Catlyn, who mimed taking a deep breath, and then back to Sandor. 

She didn’t know if she could talk to everyone in that courtroom, but she could talk to Sandor. 

“I met Joffrey at a birthday party for his father, about four and a half years ago. His father introduced us, Robert. He thought we’d make a good pair. Unite the Stark and Baratheon houses. He and my father were good friends.” 

“And what were your first impressions of Joffrey, when you met him?” 

“I thought he was absolutely charming.” 

And with that, the whole story poured out of her mouth, her eyes trained on Sandor most of the time, sometimes addressing her mother, sometimes Arya, sometimes the jury. She never spared Joffrey a glance. The whirlwind romance, the proposal after six months together, moving into the mansion. The first time he hit her, slapping her across the face after his father’s funeral. She had chalked it up to grief. Then it happened again. And then again. The first time he had Meryn beat her. Cersei standing by and watching. Bandaging cuts alone in her room, icing bruises. He left her face alone. He liked her pretty. 

“Why didn’t you leave? Ask your family to come and get you?” 

Sansa bit her lip. She could hear the thoughts of the jury now: stupid girl, why didn’t you leave, stupid little rich girl, you must have liked it, must have been asking for it. She thought the same about herself. 

“At first I was in love. I could excuse it. By the time I didn’t love him, he was monitoring my messages, watching what I said to other people.”

She hesitated, eyes flitting to Sandor.

“I almost left, once. Joffrey said he would kill me if I told anyone. He said I deserved what I was getting. He said if I left, he would hunt me down and let Meryn do what he liked to me, and that no one would ever find my body.” 

***

Sandor was working on controlling his breathing. In, and out, and in, and out, slowly. It gave him something to focus on besides wanting to rip Joffrey’s head off. If you were to ask a therapist, which Sandor had, when he had gone to one for a couple of sessions a year ago, they would say that Sandor’s tendency to focus on violent imagery, anger, and aggression was a deflective method so that he didn’t have to confront his actual emotions- like his reaction to hearing the pain in Sansa’s voice as she told her story. But also, Joffrey was a cunt, so Sandor thought the rage was ok to focus on. 

Sansa was still sitting at the witness stand, face pale and drawn, while her lawyer was setting up some type of presentation. 

“What’s going on now?” He muttered to Brienne, who he had opted to sit next to again. 

“I think they’re showing some evidence that goes along with Sansa’s story, before they let her get cross examined,” Brienne replied in a hushed tone. She looked at him critically. “Are you holding up alright?” 

“All sunshine and fucking roses,” Sandor replied bitterly, making Brienne snort out a laugh that she covered as a cough. 

“Court will now resume,” the judge said from his seat.

“The prosecution would like to present evidence for the physical abuse allegations against Joffrey Baratheon.” 

He should probably learn the name of the lawyer, Sandor thought. He tried to meet Sansa’s eyes, but she was looking down at her hands. 

“There was a considerable amount of scarring from the abuse,” the lawyer continued. “We would like to invite a specialist to interpret the images the court will see, if the judge will allow it.” The lawyer continued. The judge nodded, and the lawyer stepped aside as a middle aged woman stepped up and began to speak, projecting an image onto the screen. 

Sandor’s blood boiled. Projected on the screen for all to see was a photo of Sansa’s legs, the back of them covered in criss crossed lines where the skin had been broken, healed, and broken again. Sandor had seen Meryn hit her with whatever instrument happened to be around far too many times, and remembered far too well the limp she would walk with after those incidents. 

A wave of guilt so intense that he thought he might be sick ran through him. Sansa still wouldn’t look up from her hands. 

“The scarring in this area is indicative of repeated blows over repeated incidents. These scars have healed and been broken open multiple times, indicating the area was injured not just once, but over many different incidents.” The specialist summarized. 

The next slide was shown, scarring on Sansa’s upper back. Then the next slide, and the next, and the next, until Sandor was unable to listen to the explanations anymore. He remembered them, or remembered Sansa telling him about them, too vividly, and Sansa still wouldn’t look up. Not that he thought he’d be able to meet her eyes if she did. 

This was the first he had seen of the lasting marks the abuse had left on her body. If the physical marks were so prominent, there was no telling what kinds of psychological marks were left. Especially after Petyr. 

“Finally, there is this head injury.” 

The final photo was a scar beneath Sansa’s hair. 

“This scarring is from a clean laceration, and was likely the cause of the memory loss reported by Miss Stark.” 

As the specialist finished, the lawyer rose to ask a couple of final questions.

“Dr. Reed, in your professional opinion, is the scarring shown in those photos indicative of physical abuse?” 

“Yes, it is. Most of the scarring shows that it was sustained over repeated incidents, and the most likely explanation would be that the injuries were inflicted on Miss Stark on numerous occasions with malicious intent.”

“So these injuries could not have been an accident?” 

“It would be very unlikely.” 

“One last question, Doctor. Is a head injury like the one Miss Stark sustained typical of a car accident?” 

Doctor Reed hesitated. 

“It isn’t unheard of for car crash victims to have clean lacerations. I would expect to see more blunt force trauma in a head injury from a car accident, however, which makes me inclined to believe that this injury was not sustained in a car crash.”

“Thank you, Doctor. No further questions.” 

The lawyer representing Joffrey and Petyr stood up, and Sandor tensed. Sansa had finally looked up from her hands, and she looked tired, and he could see fright in her face. Every instinct he had called out for him to get her out of this situation- she shouldn’t have to continue to relive the abuse, shouldn’t have to have some lawyer poking and trying to find holes in her story. 

“My first question is for you, Doctor Reed,” the man said. “You stated that it isn’t unheard of for car crash victims to have clean lacerations, like the one Miss Stark allegedly sustained, is that true?” 

“Yes, that’s what I said.” Doctor Reed replied. 

“So its possible that Miss Stark could have sustained her head injury in a car wreck, as my client, Mr. Baelish, has testified?”

Doctor Reed grimace. “Technically, yes, although as I said, with a car crash we would expect to see more blunt trauma, which is absent in this injury.” 

“But it is possible?” 

“Yes.” 

The lawyer smirked. “Thank you, Doctor, no further questions for you. Now, Miss Stark, it is you in those photos, correct?” 

Sansa’s stare was icy. “Yes, those are photos of me.” 

“Forgive me for asking, but there isn’t any identifying marks on those photos. Are you able to prove it is you in those photos?” 

“Objection!”

“Sustained,” the judge replied. “Move on, counselor.” 

“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but unless Miss Stark can prove she is the individual in those photos, and that those scars exist, I have to question the validity of this evidence.” 

Sandor saw red. He gripped the underside of his seat so hard his knuckles turned white. Next to him, Brienne let out a hiss, and he could see that her fists were clenched. 

“Your Honor, my client cannot be asked to expose herself to the court, it is inhumane.” Sansa’s lawyer called out. 

Before the judge could answer, Sansa stood up. 

“It’s all right,” she said, in a quiet, even voice. “I can prove it’s me in the photos.”

She took her hair down from its high bun and shook it out, parting it along the back to show an angry, red mark down the back of her skull.

“That’s the head injury that causes my memory loss.” 

Sansa took the sleeve of her blouse, and rolled it up to her shoulder, exposing ivory skin marred with visible lines raising her skin. 

“These are the scars from the third slide. Is that enough evidence for you? I’d rather not continue taking my clothes off, if it's all the same to you.” 

Her face was stone cold, impenetrable, her mouth set in a firm line, but Sandor could just barely see a wobble in her chin, betraying her true feelings. 

The faces of the jury were angry and horrified. One woman was openly glaring at Joffrey and Petyr’s lawyer. 

He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. 

“That will do. No further questions.” 

*****  
Sansa elected to drive back with Arya and Sandor and Brienne. She was silent all the way back, only murmuring a thank you when Brienne and Arya said she did well. All Sandor could do was stare at her from the back, wishing he could help but unsure how he could. 

When they arrived back at Winterfell, after a mostly silent car ride, Sansa stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

“The lawyers want to move your testimony up. You’d be testifying the day after tomorrow, if you’re alright with that.” 

Sandor nodded. “Of course. Whatever you need me to do.” 

“Thank you, “ Sansa murmured. She turned to follow after Arya and Brienne, who were nearly inside, shoulders hunched in on herself and head bowed. 

“Sansa,” Sandor called after her, voice hoarse. She stopped and turned slightly, head cocked. His voice caught in his throat, as though he was choking on his words. Instead, he reached out a hand and cupped the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair. His touch brushed against the raised scar on the back of her skull. Sansa tensed, eyes darting from his face to the ground, but slowly relaxed, leaning her head into his touch and letting out a small sigh. 

“Your hair is getting some red back.” Sandor muttered. Sansa let out a hum of a laugh, and the sound seemed to warm Sandor from the inside. 

“Good, I’m getting a bit sick of the black,” she answered. 

“Sansa, I-” 

“If you apologize to me one more time, Sandor Clegane, I’m kicking you out of this house,” Sansa interrupted him with a small smile.

Sandor huffed out a chuckle. “You did good today, little bird.” 

Sansa nodded slowly. “I did what I needed to do. I just hope it’s enough.” 

She shivered. “Let’s get inside, it’s getting cold.” 

When the two of them walked in, Sansa’s hand wrapped around Sandor’s arm, Arya and Brienne both gave him a look that would have burned him alive if he’d been a weaker man. 

****  
Sansa was feeling lighter after her conversation with Sandor, but her mood was dashed when she was called into the study with her mother and Mr. Cassel, the lawyer.

“Sandor said he can testify early,” she said when she walked in. 

“Good, good,” Mr. Cassel responded. “Listen, Sansa, there’s been an update in the case. New witnesses.” 

“For us, or for them?” Sansa asked. 

“For us,” Mr. Cassel said. “Two new witnesses can testify against Baelish.” 

“That sounds like good news,” Sansa said cautiously. Her mother’s jaw was set, and she could see the muscle in it ticking, which was never a good sign. She remembered that all too well from when they were children. 

“Mr. Cassel has an…. Interesting idea,” Catlyn said with a pointed look at the lawyer. 

Mr. Cassel sighed. “Sansa, the two new witnesses are Jaime and Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion can testify to some of the abuse, but neither of them were really around for that. They can both testify about Baelish. Tyrion knew Baelish for a long time, he knew the obsession Balish had with your mother. And both Jaime and Tyrion have testimonies that show that… well, your case isn’t the first time Baelish has done something like this.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “What?” 

Catlyn reached over and laid a hand on Sansa’s arm, squeezing it reassuringly. 

“Not to the extent of your case, but there have been two other women that Petyr has manipulated and taken. We can prove there’s a pattern.”

Sansa nodded. “So we can get him. That’s what you’re saying, right?” 

Mr. Cassel looked at her warily. “Yes. I think we can. But I don’t think we can do it unless Cersie and Joffrey turn on Baelish.” 

“They’ll never do that.” Sansa nearly laughed at the notion. 

“They might if there was something in it for them.” Mr. Cassel said slowly. 

Sansa froze, her blood running cold. “You want to offer them a deal.”

“I think it's a foolish idea,” Catlyn scoffed. “We can get them both. We have enough evidence.” 

“With all respect, Mrs. Stark, we don’t. Not when facing the Lannisters. They’ve gotten out of worse scrapes than this.” Mr. Cassel turned his attention back to Sansa. 

“This might be our only chance. I don’t think we can get both of them. But I think we can get Baelish, if we offer to reduce the charges on Joffrey. But I won’t make the offer unless you want to take this in that direction.” 

Sansa felt disconnected from her body. The thought of letting Joffrey walk free, after what he had done to her, after the years of torment- it made her stomach turn. 

But Mr. Cassel seemed like he was telling the truth. 

“If we make this offer,” Sansa said slowly, “And they agree to it. Are you sure we can put Petyr away?” 

“Yes. We can.” Mr. Cassel said earnestly. 

“Then do it.” 

*****

Sansa tossed and turned in bed all night, staring at the ceiling. Her body felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to her. Her hair was wrong, the scars on her body felt wrong, intrusive, and even the way she interacted with everyone felt fake. She could feel panic bubbling in her chest, but her mind refused to acknowledge it as panic. 

On an impulse, she stood up, pulling a sweatshirt over her head, and walked out of her bedroom, striding with purpose towards the guest rooms on the other side of the house. 

She paused outside of Sandor’s door, knocked lightly, then turned the knob and walked in. 

Hearing her entrance, Sandor raised himself up on one arm, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he looked at her. 

“Little bird?” he said in a raspy voice. 

Without a word, she walked over to the bed, pulled back the covers, and crawled in. Tentatively, she reached out, tangling her fingers with his. She breathed out a sigh of relief at his touch. 

Sandor was staring at her wide eyed, a bemused expression on his face. 

“Something wrong, girl?” 

Sansa shook her head. “No, I’m all right. I just needed…..” she trailed off, opting to squeeze his hand instead of speaking. He squeezed back with a slow nod, still confused. 

When he moved, he moved slowly, cautiously reaching out his other arm to pull her closer, his large hand in between her shoulders. She untangled their fingers and reached out, one arm around his waist and the other splayed on his chest. Sandor grunted, and she felt his breath on her cheek and neck. 

“This alright?” He said quietly. She nodded, taking a deep breath for the first time that night. Her body still felt somewhat wrong, but it felt like hers again, the feel of Sandor’s skin brushing hers grounding her in her body, reminding her who and where she was. 

The tension slowly bled out of her, and she drifted off, leaving Sandor with his arms wrapped gently around her sleeping figure, trying and failing not to imagine what it would be like to hold her like this every night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am so sorry for the wait on this chapter! My school year is wrapping up, and I've got exams next week, so I've been just a bit too busy to write. But my brain decided to procrastinate studying some and write this instead! I hope you guys like this chapter! It was tough to try to balance the legal stuff while still getting as much SanSan in as possible, but it ended up being a fun one to write, even if I know next to nothing about how a trial works. As always, thank you for all your amazing comments and all the love you guys show this story, it means the world to me!

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first time writing any GOT fics, so I hope you all enjoy! I should be updating this work pretty regularly, about once a week or so depending on other responsibilities.


End file.
